


Journal

by sastieljpg (ACometAppears)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Apocalypse, Character Death, Gen, Time Travel, Wincest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACometAppears/pseuds/sastieljpg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean were born fifty years apart. Dean's living in the present with the aftermath of a demon deal made to save his father, while Sam lives in a future ravaged by the Apocalypse. The two come into contact when they're both gifted the same mysterious journal, which allows them to communicate across the decades. A story told through journal entries. Season 3 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. March

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over a year ago, now - but I like it, so I'm going to post it on here. Don't worry, it's complete!! Enjoy :))
> 
> (This work does have hints of wincest, although nothing explicit. Just FYI)

March 9th  
Someone keeps stealing this. I haven't even had the chance to write anything in it yet. It's been a week since Jo got me this stupid thing for my 23rd so I could 'vent' or whatever, but I can't really think of anything to put in it, and besides _someone keeps stealing it_. So there'd be no point.

I reckon it's Jo herself, cause it's probably not Ash. Well, I guess whoever it was ended up disappointed – no secrets, no confessions, nothing.

I'm surprised that I've managed to even write _this_ , actually. There doesn't seem much point in doing so – who's gonna be around to read it in ten years? Probably no one, not even me. No one tends to live to a very old age anymore, that's for sure. It doesn't bother me so much: people die every day, and one day it'll be me. That's just the facts.

Not sure where Jo got this from. None of the suppliers or outposts we've been to recently had luxury items (they've all been munitions keepers this month), and all the houses we've searched were all charred and black, as usual. There was definitely no place to get a brown leather journal (no, Jo, it's not a _diary_ , it's a _journal_ ). So I have no idea how she managed to conjure it up, but she did. Strange.

March 10th  
I have no idea who's been writing in here, but whoever it is, is gonna get their ass kicked. This is _my_ journal. Dad gave it to me to start writing in, so I'd stop borrowing his all the damn time. But some jerk keeps stealing it, and it disappears every other damn day. I don't even know why you'd take it, there's nothing in it! Except from a couple of newspaper clippings from our cases and a few bits of lore I could be bothered to scrawl down when Dad told me to. Nothing personal, at all.

So whoever it is, quit it. I know it's not Dad, cause it's not his writing. I don't recognise your writing whoever you are, but this is my journal, so quit it.

March 11th  
Look, this is stupid. I don't recognise your writing either, but this has to end. It's a stupid prank, and I'm not in the mood.

I would ask one thing, though – how'd you get newspaper clippings? _All_ the newspapers went out of print decades ago.

. . . Actually, looking at them, there are from decades ago, but they're just in super good condition. The lore's all pretty archaic as well – everyone knows about demons, and how to draw devil's traps, you don't need to write it down!

I know you're a hunter though. You've gotta be with research like that.

I just don't get why you'd be using my journal to paste in all your really old crap! Jo gave this to me for my birthday a week back, so it's mine.

March 12th  
What are you talking about?! That's a paper from last week, from March 3rd, 2007. It's an article about the devil's gate opening in Wyoming – I was there, me and my Dad closed it. End of story.

March 13th  
. . . It's 2057

How

Who are you?

March 14th  
Dean Winchester – who the hell are you?!

March 15th  
Call me Sam, I guess.

So I looked on my friend Ash's computer archive – from, like, ages ago – and it drew up an article on Dean Winchester. Get this – you were born in the 1970s, that's almost a century ago! Seriously, dude, something weird is happening with this journal. It keeps going missing, and I think it ends up in your time. We're communicating between the decades – understand? Or have I finally gone freaking crazy

March 16th  
Yeah, I get it, but how? Cursed object? Look, buddy, I bet you're real nice and everything, but half the stuff you say doesn't make sense. Like, what about 'everyone knowing how to draw a devil's trap'? No one even knows demons exist, except us hunters!

Anyway, I can't trust you. I know nothing about you. You could be some demon, for all I know. Don't write back.

March 17th  
I tried not to write back, but I have to do _something._

You mentioned a devil's gate opening in Wyoming on March 3rd. That's the beginning, but there's still a chance. We have to stop what happened after that! Stop it, and maybe you have a shot at preventing the whole damn world ending.

Strange thing is, you die exactly a year after the devil's gate opens in Wyoming – like, _exactly_ a year!

March 18th  
I know. I said don't write back. Stop it.

March 19th  
But - how do you know you're gonna die in a year . . . ?

March 20th  
Because I made a deal, okay?! A demon deal, for my dad's life. He was killed fighting these special kids – something about demon blood being fed to them as babies, I don't know – and I sold my soul to get him back. I didn't want to be on my own, okay? So I was weak, and stupid, and I got one year out of the bitch who did the deal. That's how I know, Sam.

What's this about the world ending, anyway?!

March 21st  
I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't know. It's not

You're not stupid. I know what it's like to want to protect the people you love, even though it kinda feels like you can't do anything. You're not weak, though. Sacrificing yourself isn't weak, honestly. Why do I get the feeling this is the first time you've even spoken to anyone about this? Maybe it's not _me_ who needs to vent

You opened a can of worms there, Dean.

Well there's

What happened was

There's this sort of modern myth about a righteous man who gets rescued from hell by angels or something. He broke the first seal on the Apocalypse, apparently. Sounds like total crap to you probably, but to us, it's all we can think about, cause it basically made our lives the what they are today.

So this guy was destined to be the vessel of this archangel, Michael, as soon as the Apocalypse got under way – which it did, cause one of those special kids you were talking about broke the last seal, and demons and angels took care of the rest. But then that kid got killed – he was supposed to have been the vessel of Lucifer, and he and Michael were supposed to have this big prize fight ' _winner takes all_ ' style thing. But when he died, Lucifer didn't have his true vessel, cause there were no 'special kids' left to use.

Legend goes that the righteous man said no to Michael as well, and he's still out there somewhere – but it's hard to say cause no one knows his name and no one knows for sure if they've seen him. But the point is that Lucifer just keeps taking these temporary vessels, and destroying everything he can. The Earth's this big wasteland, and he and Michael just rampage around it.

The word is, Lucifer's just waiting for his next true vessel to be born. Could take years, people say. Other people say it could _never_ happen, and it'll be like this forever – Michael and Lucifer can't fight until they both have their true vessels.

I hope it doesn't last forever

You gotta understand, Dean, this is all everyone can think about, talk about – it's always sort of just there, bubbling away under the surface, at the back of our minds. We have nothing left but the chance that this'll end, and we can rebuild. Unfortunately, I have no idea what it's like to live in the 'normal' world that you do, cause the world ended before I was even born. My parents are dead – but I have my friends. They're all I have.

That's why it's so important that you help me, Dean – promise you'll help me?

. . . I'm sorry; this is a lot to take in.

March 22nd  
You're damn right it's a lot to take in, Sam. I mean, the apocalypse? Lucifer?! I mean, what the hell? It's just – it's just crazy! But I'll have a look into that prize fight or whatever for next time the journal ends up in my glove box. I'll get my best man on it.

. . . Sorry about your parents. My mom died when I was just shy of four – she died in this fire. Dad says it was a demon, but we can't really be sure. We never got what did it. I don't know if we ever will, but sometimes when he's been drinking, Dad will mention – he'll say something like, 'my boy' or whatever. I don't know, man. I think he blames himself, and I think he can't stop thinking about

What if he'd lost both of

What if he was alone

I really

I don't

I try not to think about it. But yeah – that's how we got started hunting. Dad took me on the road from Lawrence, Kansas in the Impala (there's a picture tucked in the front, I bet you're dying to see her – you should be) all over the USA, saving people, hunting things – the family business. That was 27 years ago, and we're still going strong – well, aside from, you know, _going to hell in a year_.

March 23rd  
That's not funny, Dean.

March 24th  
Lighten up, Sammy! What's your story, anyway? Who're these 'friends'? Got a girl, eh?

March 25th  
Dean, do you have to lower the tone? Fine, I have one friend who I travel with that's a girl, but she's like my sister! And she's only 19. Her name's Jo, and she's an excellent hunter – the greatest, she's got your back all the time. Don't know what I'd do without her. Then there's Ash, he's like a family friend, and a bit older than me. A bit weird, but IQ through the roof, we reckon. Obviously there's no way of testing that in our circumstances, but you can just tell. Computer genius, which is useful when you have to investigate who you're talking to via a _magic disappearing journal._

March 26th  
That's magic _time-travelling_ journal, technically, Sammy. Get your facts right!

19, eh? Got a picture?

March 27th  
Dean, _gross_. Right, I've clipped in a Polaroid: it's Jo, me, and Ash, in that order. Sorry for the crappy quality, we were lucky to even find that camera. Feel free to keep that, though, cause we basically used up the entire camera on taking dumb pictures of ourselves. You have to have fun where you can, I guess.

March 28th  
Jeez, didn't know I had a Sasquatch as a future pen-pal! How tall are you?

Here's one of me and dad.

March 29th  
Tall enough. Anyway, nice car, man. You can really see the family resemblance between you and your dad – or is that just the matching leather jackets? You got a bike, or what?

March 30th  
Nah, just baby – she's our only home.

March 31st  
I know the feeling. I don't really have a home either. We just walk everywhere, or something – _if_ we find a house that isn't too charred, or a car with minimal guts and enough gas – we make use of other people's stuff. It's not like they're using it.

. . . Let me explain. Right, so there's this virus, cooked up by – well, it sounds stupid, but _Pestilence_. He's a demon, and a Horseman of the apocalypse. There's obviously three other horsemen, and you have to watch out for all of them. Like, try and track their movements as much as you can by tuning into the hunter radio frequency. You don't wanna meet any of those guys – though, strangely, you don't see much of Death, while sightings of War and Famine are ten-a-penny. Weird.

The virus, though – it's called 'Croatoan', and it turns you into this crazy zombie if you get it. If an area's closed off cause of Croatoan, even the werewolves and shifters steer clear of it (weirdly enough, we don't see a lot of the other supernatural crap these days – it's mostly zombies and demons, but you _never_ see angels).

But the point is that loads of people have been killed by the zombies, or by hunters who think they're infected. So there's loads of spare stuff in every house, if others haven't stolen all the good stuff already, or if it hasn't been burned down cause it's infected, or whatever.

Sorry. Didn't mean to bring you down with tales of this shithole we call a world. I promise to be a little more optimistic next time.


	2. April

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't consider this a work of John-hate; I don't hate John, and in this story, he has completely valid reasons for his actions. 
> 
> Now that's out of the way, all there is to warn for is bad language. More to come soon. Cheers!!

April 1st  
Lighten up, Sammy! It's April fool's day! I've attached a whoopee cushion for you to use on one of your friends. They're the greatest. You get how it works, right?

Well, actually, it won't be April Fools anymore when you get it, so joke's on you, I guess. Hope you still have April Fools in 2057.

I'm gonna do some research on these horseman douchebags for you. I'm sure we'll find a way to gank em, it'll just take time. But I've got this family friend – he's called Bobby, he's the best at research, can't be beaten – he'll find something. Just hang in there, and keep away from any of those zombies.

April 2nd  
Thanks Dean. I'm not sure you _will_ find anything, but thanks all the same.

I liked the whoopee cushion, though Jo was pissed. She saw the funny side in the end, but I wasn't sure how to explain where I got it, so I just made something up. I'm not sure if they'll understand what's going on with this _time-travelling_ magic journal.

It's so weird to have a relic from your time, though – it was decades ago, but it may as well have been thousands of years. There are no shops where you could buy that anymore – actually, there's no shops, really. Just munitions suppliers.

I wonder all the time what it would be like to live in the early 2000s, with you. Like, I have no idea what it's like to go to a shopping mall, or a swimming pool. I dream about that kind of thing - I love swimming in lakes, once in a blue moon when I get to, but I've heard from older hunters that there's a special smell of swimming pools that you can't help but recognise straight away. Well, I wouldn't, would I? It's just little things like that which make me wonder what I'm missing.

I wonder if there's I just _know_ there's got to be a way of getting you out of your deal. I'll find it. It's the least I can do, there's not exactly a shortage of demons to ask around here – I'll find one, I'll get information from it. (Don't worry, I'm a pro)

April 3rd  
Well, the thing about swimming pools is they've always got band aids and bits of hair in them, and some kid always pees! The chemicals that make that smell make your eyes all red if you get the water in them. Honestly, you're better off in lakes, minus the reeds – try not to look at my time with rose-tinted glasses kiddo, it sucks alright. Just, not as much as yours.

Sammy, be careful. Don't get hurt cause of me – hell, you're not even born yet, I don't wanna be responsible for you dying!

April 4th

April 5th  
Sammy? Are you okay?

April 6th

April 7th  
Sam?

April 8th

April 9th  
Dammit Sam, send something back, those blank days are driving me nuts! I need to know you're aliv

Tell me you're

Tell me

You didn't go and get killed cause of me

Just say something this is all my fault

Write back when you can.

April 10th  
Sorry I haven't written back Dean. Turned out we didn't pick the right demon to interrogate – he was one of the fucking _seven deadly sins_. Those guys haven't been out of hell for fifty years, which is centuries in Hell years, according to Wrath. Anyway, we caught the guy, and he was spitting bile and turning the air blue, like they always do.

But the thing was, when I asked him if there was a way of saving a soul from a deal, he asked which of us we wanted to save, and I said none of us. He refused to say anything til I said who I was trying to save, so I told him your name. Jo and Ash were outside, keeping watch, but they weren't prepared for his rage to break the devil's trap on the ceiling, and blow all the salt lines, and break the iron chains. He was so angry that nothing we did could stop him. He summoned his friends, and we had to shag ass pretty quick outta there.

You might notice my handwriting's crappy, to say the least. Well, I'm writing left-handed, cause the bastard broke my right wrist. We've been travelling to this psychic in South Dakota, Pamela Barnes. She's got a medical outpost going, and she's always got room for a few hunters – few doctors, too. It's been a long journey, and we've been tailed the whole way, but we picked them off, one by one. But shooting left-handed still isn't easy. He burnt his hand print into my wrist, as well – when he touched me, it was like the worst possible pain, but worse. I'm not trying to be a whiny girl here, but if I never have to face those guys again, it'll be too damn soon.

But other than my wrist, I'm fine. Sorry I couldn't find anything out about your deal. Maybe I'm not as good a hunter as I thought.

April 11th  
You scared the shit outta me, Sam! I'll kick your ass if you ever do that again. I'm gonna give a whole new meaning to the phrase 'blast from the past', you hear?!

Holy crap, no wonder that guy didn't say anything – me, Dad and Bobby exorcised all those fuckers to the deepest circles of Hell not last month! They hadn't been topside in centuries, and were having their usual crappy idea of _fun_ when we decided to send them back and end their party for at least 100 years. I guess your apocalypse shook em loose!

Of course they're gonna have a grudge against me – I'm not surprised he lost his shit when you said my name! I sent that guy back myself. You've got the worst luck, dude.

I'd send that guy downstairs all over again if I could. Hope your wrist gets better soon, cause that writing is _seriously_ bad – worse than mine, even.

Glad to know you're safe though, Sammy.

April 12th  
Oh . . . Well, in that case, I guess I understand why he was so angry. Well, aside from literally being _Wrath_ and all.

We arrived at Pamela's today, and she had this hunter – who was a doctor about a million years ago – fix me up. The wrist will heal fine once it's out of a cast, but the burn could scar. I hope it doesn't – I don't want the memory of that bastard around forever.

The bad side of getting my wrist fixed up is that the cast means I can't go swimming in the lake Pamela's house backs onto. Jo loves swimming (Ash, not so much), but I had to sit and just imagine what it'd be like to jump in. God, I feel so _stupid_ for letting myself get hurt in the first place.

But she said something was . . . _Strange_ about me (other than my 'great ass'). She said she knows when she feels another psychic close by, and she insists I'm one. I mean, it sounds like crap to me, but she's the best psychic in the state, if not in the whole USA, so I can't just ignore her.

But she said it felt unnatural. Like I was altered, or something. She said it didn't feel quite right, what I am. We're gonna do a séance. She hopes that'll offer us some answers.

April 13th  
Psychic? You? But you seem perfectly normal! Unless you've got some secret demonic shit going on under the whole 'great ass' thing (TMI, by the way, bro).

Just be careful, Sammy, you hear? Séances are _never_ good news in my opinion. But let me know, alright?

April 14th  
Séances are never good news. You're right, Dean. I can't believe what I just freaking heard. Neither will you.

Pamela was looking for answers in the 'spirit realm' or whatever. I don't know much about it – I just gank ghosts, I don't wanna chat with them, cause they usually just try and throw you across the room – I'm sure you know that already but

Anyway, there was one that she couldn't keep away, and it sort of _possessed_ her, but she said it was okay, that it wasn't evil or . . . _Something_.

The ghost said its name was Mary, and that I was supposed to be her son, but she was killed when she was pregnant, so I was never born. Except I was, but to a different family. I don't even understand how that works. I mean, what the

Obviously I'm freaked, Dean, before you say anything. This is not normal, this is not even _sane_. But the next bit made me feel genuine fear. Obviously it's pretty scary just going outside in this ass of a situation everyone lives in, but it doesn't even compare to what happened next.

She said when I was a baby, a demon came and fed me demon blood, and it gave me psychic powers. I tried to tell her she was wrong, and I wasn't psychic, but she wasn't having any of it. I've never bent a spoon, I've never had a vision of the future, I've never read someone's mind. It just doesn't make sense!

The really weird bit comes next.

She sort of, _smiled_ at me, and

She told me

She said she loved you, Dean, and she was sorry. She was talking to you.

What the hell?! . . . Please tell me some of this makes sense to you, at least?!

April 15th  
I don't know who or _what_ you are but keep the fuck away from my son. I'm burning this book, you demonic son of a bitch. You'll never hurt anyone ever again, you hear, you fucking demon-blood freak? I don't care if you've never had a psychic 'episode' or whatever the fuck you wanna call it – you've got the blood, you'll turn. It's only a matter of time.

And I don't want you taking my son with you – luring him in with your sob story, and talking about his mother, _my wife_ , in such a way. You're lower than shit, you know that? I'm glad he eventually mustered up some common fucking sense to tell me about this damn book before you got your filthy fucking hands on his soul. As if it's not enough that he's going to Hell for me, you wanna drag him down there early? Can't wait for the games to begin, can you? Well not this time. Not _my_ son.

Future, my ass. I know you're just a demon, and I'll find you, you fucking freak, you _monster_ – you'll get yours, just wait and see.

Hope you enjoy your salt and burn, freak.


	3. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for bad language in this chapter. Enjoy!!

September 3rd  
Sammy? Are you there?

I'm so, so sorry for that last entry. I told my Dad what you said, how that ghost talked about me, and he freaked out. He snatched this book away, and he told me he'd burnt it after warning you to back off. He made the fire and everything, but I guess he couldn't bring himself to throw it in, cause here I am.

I think it's cause he knew the spirit was my Mom – he said he hadn't told anyone _ever_ that she was pregnant. Imagine that, eh, Sammy? It's crazy, isn't it? That we could have been

Nah, screw that. You're my brother. It just sucks that you're stuck in zombie-land and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

Sorry I haven't written you in the last few months. I seriously thought this thing was dead and gone, but when my Dad

Look, the thing is, my Dad left me this morning – just took off, left baby, left my stuff, and the book. Didn't say why, or anything. But I promise you I wouldn't have left you so freaked out with no one to talk about it with so long if I'd known. You have to believe me.

Did you get any further with your psychic stuff? Looking back, you _did_ actually do one kinda psychic thing – you wrote about those lakes, said you dreamed about them, before you ended up having to go to Pamela's. Then you wrote about the lakes there. Could've been coincidence, but whatever, man.

Sure hope you get this.

Hope you didn't stop looking for my replies.

I have six months left

I'm sc

September 4th

September 5th  
I knew it. I'm too late, aren't I?

September 6th

September 7th

September 8th  
I'm not sure you'll still want to talk to me anymore, Dean. I'm a freak now. I don't know who you think I am, but I'm definitely not your brother. I'm sorry.

September 9th  
Just give me a chance, Sam! Tell me what's wrong.

Your writing's different. Did you ever fix that hand?

September 10th  
Yeah, I fixed it, but I haven't written in a long time so I'm kinda out of practise.

It got worse. I didn't think it could, but it did – they've started hunting us, Dean, and it's totally my fault. I'm this weird freak and I

I have visions, of people about to die. It's always demons – killing, or causing the death, or just standing by watching, laughi

I can't do this anymore. I know what this means now, and I'm sorry, but you don't wanna associate with me.

September 11th  
Shut up, Sam, before you angst yourself to death. Just tell me what's wrong already!

Looks like it's not me who needs to try a little sharing and caring this time, eh?

September 12th  
I can't, Dean. What your

What Mary said about me was right – I _have_ got demon blood in me. All the demons, they search me out now. It's like a switch flipped and they started hunting me down. They all say the same thing – even when I'm holed up in a house or a bunker somewhere, salt lines all around, I can hear them howling outside, and they always say the same thing.

They say they're coming for me, Dean, and that sooner or later, I'm

That I'm going to

I left Jo and Ash cause they got hurt enough already.

Your Dad was right. I'll go bad Dean. And even if I don't, everyone who even knows me dies.

You shouldn't talk to me.

September 13th  
I'm not even gonna _start_ with the bullshit about 'fate' and going darkside or whatever you wanna call it – it's just too nuts for me to think about, so cut it out, alright? And why the hell would you leave your only backup behind! Go back to your friends, man!

Fine. You don't wanna share? _I'll_ share. Yup, me, Dean Winchester. I'm gonna show you I trust you Sammy.

Two days ago marked the anniversary of this terrorist attack in New York, where loads of people died. I don't know if you know about that, but it was . . . Terrifying. Everyone remembers where they were when it happened. I don't scare easy, but it scared the shit outta me. But me and my dad, we just never really talk about that kinda thing, you know?

I did the minute's silence – I was in a bar, these kids were talking all the way through. Afterwards I told them to show some fucking respect . . . With my fist in their faces. Yeah, I know – irresponsible, reckless, blah blah blah. Whatever.

I didn't know anyone who died in that attack, or anyone really affected by it (aside from being quietly scared shitless, like we all were). But I felt personally offended. Why? Because of _you_ , Sam. Because it doesn't matter how scared I was when it happened, you've got it worse. You are, right now, living in a constant state of fear on an epic scale. I couldn't stop thinking of you sitting it out somewhere while bombs went off outside, and having to just grit your teeth and deal with it.

It really

It shook me.

So, there. There it is. My big confession.

So why the fuck would you even start with this bullshit about me not being safe to talk to you? You're my friend now, Sam. You're stuck with me. And I'm stuck with you, through thick and thin, because of this freaky book.

You can choose not to write me back all you want, but I'm gonna write to you, so you might as well read it and reply. End of story.

You won't get rid of me that easily, kid.

September 14th  
That was beautiful, Dean.

September 15th  
Shut it Sam.

\- Got you to reply, though, didn't it? Dean 1, Sam 0. Suck on that!

September 16th  
Alright, fine. You win. But I'm still worried. And I'm _not_ going back to Jo and Ash. They've suffered enough.

I need to find out more about this demon blood. I'm gonna try another demon – _not_ Wrath again, obviously – but it shouldn't be too hard to find one willing to talk. The hardest thing is probably stopping them talking, these days. Gloating and laughing and telling me all this shit I don't wanna know, how I'm 'destined for greatness', their 'boy king' or whatever. I wish they'd all shut up. For good.

To be honest, I don't wanna find out more – all I want is to run and hide. But, maybe if I talk, they'll tell me more about your deal?

I'm sorry I let the time slip away. After your

After his message, I didn't know what to do, I was so freaked cause he was _right_ , or so I thought. I don't know if I still think that. Whatever, the point is that I let time run away, and you're paying the price with less and less time, so I'm sorry.

September 17th  
Jeez, thanks for reminding me, kiddo! Way to lower to mood.

September 18th  
Well the mood was already pretty low with the whole _demon blood boy king_ thing, Dean! And don't call me kiddo – I've worked it out, I'm only like, maximum 4 years younger than you!

Sorry though. I shouldn't have brought it up.

September 19th  
4 years? God, you're a freaking _child_! Not to mention the fifty-year age gap, eh?

Don't worry, Sam, five and a half months is a long time. I'm sure we'll think of something by March 2nd – just _don't_ do anything stupid, okay?

Good luck with your demon hunt, though. I'm a little freaked about what you'll find, but . . . Whatever. I'll deal.

September 20th  
You'll deal? Well, I guess one of us has to, cause I'm sure not.

It didn't take much to catch one – in fact, she surrendered pretty easily, she said she wanted to talk to me anyway. Obviously I don't trust her as far as I could throw her, and I took all the precautions (so stop worrying).

She said her name was Ruby, which sounds like bull-crap to me, cause I've never met a demon with a human name before. I've never stopped to ask them their names much, but when they're monologuing at you furiously before they try and kill you, they usually let it slip.

Then she said something crazy.

I have demon blood in me, Dean – you know that already. She said if I was gonna

She said that I was humanity's last hope. That's why they call me 'boy king' or whatever, cause I can save everyone. But she said first, I have to become more powerful. I mean, _no shit_. I'm strong but I'm not that strong, and my death visions aren't exactly world-saviour-standard amazing.

She said there was only one way to do it, and that was to

She looked different to all the others. Smarter, more human. I don't know whose side she's on, but everything she said made sense – like, too much sense. Up until the point where she said that if I wanted to become stronger, I needed to

She said I needed more demon blood. She said I need to drink more.

I don't know what to think.

Help

I don't know

What am I supposed to do, Dean?! How am I supposed to live with all this?

Please don't throw the book away.

September 21st  
Sam, how many times have I told you, I'm not giving up on you. So I had a little look at this whole 'boy king' thing.

Sorry pal, but you're not Earth's saviour. In fact . . . Well, demons lie, Sam. The only reason me and Bobby have ever found for someone drinking demon blood is so they can

Please for fuck's sake do _not_ freak out, okay? Demon blood, it can help . . . _Strengthen_ a vessel.

I think you're Lucifer's true vessel.

Don't trust that Ruby chick, alright? Throw her out. Run away, or kill her, if at all possible, just _do not trust her_.

September 22nd  
I confronted her. She said you were lying. I wish I could say I wasn't confused about which one of you to believe, but I was, for a while. She asked to meet you, so I showed her the book. _That_ was when I knew you were right.

She reached out to touch it, and she drew her hand back – it was like she'd got sprayed with holy water, with a side of iron rounds. She was shaking her head a lot, saying it was impossible, saying something about (hang on let me get the spelling right)

There was this one word, it was like – 'Enochian'. Any ideas?

September 23rd  
Enochian – Bobby says that's angels, Sammy! Touched by an angel, eh? Maybe they're what powers this thing!

September 24th  
Oh God. Dean, we are so, _so_ screwed.

You don't know yet cause they don't walk among you but angels are NOT good, they are NOT helpful, they are just as bad as demons, if not worse. If there's angel mojo involved here, then we have to stop using the book. They could be tracking me, and if I'm supposed to be

If I'm his

Dean, you don't know what they did to him. Remember the guy – the Michael Sword? Michael's vessel? Everywhere you go, you hear different versions of that myth I told you, but each has its own specifics. Specifics, as in – like, how they tried to make him say yes. Awful stuff, Dean – shit you couldn't even imagine. Torture, if the people who're telling the story wanna be kind. I've heard much worse. But, he'd been to Hell, so whatever they had, he could deal with it, right?

This place is like Hell on Earth, but I know it pales in comparison. Every demon I met up until a few months back told me so – they said what they'd do to me if they managed to drag my soul down with them, describe these awful

What I mean, is

If they're tracking me by this book, with the Enochian . . . _Whatever_ , they'll find me, try to force me to say yes, to agree to be Lucifer's vessel. Then what choice do I have, Dean? Say yes, and have freaking Lucifer in my head, or say no, and be subjected to the worst

Look, I need some time to think this through. I need somewhere to run to, actually, but that isn't happening. I can't withstand the torture he can. I can't even deal with my own day-to-day life right now.

September 25th  
I say you find the fucker who tagged our journal, and you gank the bastard. I don't know how, but if there's a summoning ritual, there's gotta be a killing one. Here's no way they're getting to you – not on _my_ watch.

September 26th  
Thanks Dean, but your watch is kinda 50 years ago. Besides, how do I know which angel did it? Could be Michael himself, for all we know.

September 27th  
Your psychic friend – Pamela, right? (you've gotta show me a picture, man). She might be able to help?

September 28th  
Sure, she'll _definitely_ help, what with me accidentally bringing demons upon her home last time. It's like, as soon as we did the séance, the floodgates opened, and they all came for me. Me, Jo and Ash left right off – I left like half my stuff there – but they left a good chunk of her house destroyed. A good chunk of the hunters inside, too. I split up with Jo and Ash after I figured out that'd keep happening around me.

She's alive, though. I guess I'll have to steal a car and get back to South Dakota, and then try and not get shot as soon as I step onto her porch.

September 29th  
See, Sammy? I've always got the smart ideas. No hard feelings, though – I'll be the smart one, you can be the tall one.

September 30th  
I do have other attributes, you know. Like big feet for kicking your ass. It's item no. 1 as soon as time travel is invented.

September 31st  
Can't write much. Dad back. More to follow. Big news.


	4. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mistake in this chapter - it's nothing that can be fixed, really, so it's staying in. Sorry about that!! I won't say what it is but I'm so ashamed omg
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy!!

October 1st  
Gee, Dean, dramatic much?

Whatever. Write me as soon as possible.

Nothing more on your deal, yet. Demons have cleared out the area, and I can't figure out why. Maybe it's cause Ruby told them about this book? Demons and angels don't mix well. I've never seen an angel – hell, the only angels I know much about are Michael and Lucifer – but I know they're basically legion, and they'll deep-fry any demon that comes near them. Even Lucifer, if he's mad enough, I guess.

October 2nd  
How many fucking times has Dad told me that what's dead should stay dead?! And then he goes out looking to speak to a ghost, _without me_. Not even just any random ghost, my own Mom.

Right, so he knows this psychic, called Missouri, apparently. She told him about demons and ghosts and all the other supernatural crap we hunt, after Mom

Dad went home. Like, back to Kansas, to our old house, and he took Missouri with him. Then he did the thing that he told me never to attempt – the thing that he got so fucking _mad_ about when you talked about it – his did his séance, he was trying to bait any spirits to appear or whatever the hell

Whatever. It worked too well.

Missouri told him she wouldn't have appeared and spoken to them, but she was defending the two of them from an evil spirit that'd holed up in the house. Kinda hard to keep yourself hidden when you're burning up some evil ghost bastard, right?

She said it was true. You were

You're

She made a deal, with a demon, before you were born. I don't know what for, Dad wouldn't say, but he's drinking worse than ever so I guess he thinks this is all his fault, _somehow_. The price she had to pay for the deal was to let a demon go into your nursery one night when you were a baby and feed you its blood, she said.

For some reason, it decided not to do that – it must have changed the terms or something, because the next thing she knows, she's burning on the ceiling and the two of you are dead, and the demon decides to feed you the blood fifty years into the future, instead.

I love my Mom, obviously, but . . . She sold you out, before you were even _born_ , Sam. I mean, agreeing to let your son be fed demon blood is one thing, but she was smart, and she should have known it'd find a way to twist the terms of the deal so it could just ice the two of you!

I just

I can't stop thinking about that. Whatever it was that made her do the deal must be pretty fucking important, or I don't know what

I'm so angry for you. And sorry, too.

October 3rd  
But I really don't understand, Dean – how could I have been born fifty years too late? I mean obviously I enjoy being alive, but

Well, what's dead usually stays dead, or at least it _should_. I've not seen a single confirmed, honest-to-God story of actual _literal_ reincarnation, and I'll bet you haven't either. Like, _how_?! I don't know anything that could swing that.

And if it wanted me dead, why give me its blood this time around to make me stronger? It's like it can't make up its freaking mind here!

October 4th  
Sa

I

Sam, this is John Winchester. I wanted to let you know how sorry I am for my

I was wrong to write you those things. I was too quick to judge you, and I'm sorry. I don't apologise for a lot, and I don't cry over spilt blood, but this time I feel real regret. I accept you now because Mary told me what you are, and who you are.

The thing is, the more I think about a kid like you, the more I wonder if what I did to those other kids was right. We're tracking one right now – Jake Talley. They say he's turning evil, and that he's getting help from some demon, but I can't be sure now. I don't know if I can kill him, and that's on you, Sam. Because it'd be like looking you, my son, in the eye and killing you.

I've read the last few pages of this journal when Dean hasn't been looking after it like he does, and hiding it and what-have-you. I can't believe I threatened to burn it – it would've been so stupid. But you have to understand, I couldn't just trust you without confirmation. There's no one I trust more than Mary, so when she said it, I knew you were

I'm not like Dean. I couldn't take this thing at face value. But when I read about Lucifer and strengthening a vessel with demon blood, and how you rejected it . . . I'm proud of you, Sam. You made the right call, and I'm sure this Jake kid will too. We'll see, I guess.

Try and stay alive, for Dean. When he thought this thing was burned he wasn't the same anymore. He thought I'd killed his brother. I guess he'd have been right.

– John

October 5th  
Dean, have you seen this?

October 6th  
I wondered where this damn thing had got to! Then when he said he had it, I just couldn't

It's like he's a different person. It's not like he wrote it, at all. But it's his writing and it's his style and he's opening up to you even a little bit so I

I guess he finds it easier to open up to you than me, huh, Sammy?

October 7th  
I don't think this is anything to be jealous about. Remember my only other note from him?

October 8th  
How could I not? Read it like 900 fucking times, Sam, cause I thought it scared you away for good.

What is this shit, 'looking you, my son, in the eye and killing you'?! Does he realise his own son has sold his soul for him, and only has 5 months left to live, and he hasn't done a damn thing about it?!

October 8th  
I'm sure he does, he finds it hard to communicate with you, obviously – I mean, he says as much in his note, right?

Does your researcher friend have any way to summon an angel? It's just that I've reached Pamela's house and she's agreed to let me in and help me. She says I'll have to clean the leaves out of her gutter and rake her lawn, but as soon as I told her the demons are off my ass now, she was happy to let me in. In fact, as they're all avoiding me like the plague, I'm her own personal demon-ward.

October 9th  
You don't understand, Sam. He cares more about you than he does about me, enough said. You should hear him, he's all _did you see Sam talking about angels?_ and _I wonder what type of weapons Sam can ahold of_ and _you know, me and your Mom were gonna name him after her Dad_ and all this chick-flick bullshit! He's never even met you, and since he wrote you, he's said more words about you than he has in total for the rest of the time since my deal _combined_. That's a true fucking story.

It's not that I begrudge you a little contact with him, or vice versa – hell, if my kid got killed, I'd wanna

I know you don't have a Dad anymore, Sam, and that must be so fucking hard for you – I know, I couldn't live without my Dad, and with no one to support me – I made the deal in the first place cause of that. But I just wish he'd admire me like he admires you, and how you're fighting and coping and surviving on your own when I couldn't.

Sorry for this

I have to say _something_.

\- I'll have Bobby look into the summoning ritual. Glad your friend let you back in. Sorry about the above. I wish there was a way to rub out pen. Writing you at three in the morning as soon as this thing appears in the glove box has some drawbacks.

Don't know if you should do it, though. He's written it down for me in the few hours since I wrote that, and it looks like some pretty heavy duty stuff. These angels are fucking tough from what I've read, and there's no killing ritual along with this. Even the weedier ones are pretty badass.

October 10th  
Dean.

Talk. To. Your. Dad.

That's all I'm saying about the above. It's all well and good telling _me_ that you wish he'd support you more, but if he doesn't hear it, it'll never happen. _Sharing is caring, remember?_

Don't worry about them being badass, Dean. I'm pretty badass myself. I have to go, we're testing the journal for 'spiritual energy' or something before it disappears off to you again.

October 11th  
Yeah, whatever, Mr. Badass, tell me more about how you want to hug and hold hands and talk about your feelings.

Dad's drinking even more now. I don't know why, but seeing Mom made him miss her more, and he can't stand it. You think he'd have loved to see her again, but

October 12th  
Pamela's down. She touched the journal, she tried to

I don't know, it was like this _connection_ , and it told her to turn back, to keep herself away from it

She said she didn't scare that easy and insisted, and then there was this bright light from her eyes and then they were gone and it's my fault and I can't understand

I need to summon this thing _now_ , Dean. Before it fucks around with my life even more. It may well be an angel, but she was totally innocent, and she doesn't deserve to get blinded! I guess what they say is true, about angels – they're dicks.

I have a name now, Dean. Give me the ritual.

October 13th  
Sam, think about this – it took her _eyes_ for trying to look at it, I don't think it's safe to go around provoking it. I mean, what're you gonna do when it turns up? Have a quick chat with it? And what will it do? Just stand there and wait to get ganked? Newsflash, Sam, we don't even have a way to kill it yet!

October 14th  
But that's exactly what I'm gonna do, Dean. It knows why this is happening to us; why what happened fifty years ago happened, and why this journal does what it does. And it hurt my friend. So I'm gonna talk to it, and then I'm gonna kill it – I'll find a way. This isn't up for discussion. Give me the ritual.

October 15th  
Dammit, Sam, this whole thing is spinning out of control! No way am I giving you this fucking thing, you could

It could kill you with the blink of an eye, okay?!

October 16th  
Stop treating me like a kid, Dean! I'm perfectly capable of doing this!

So what if I die, huh?! If you haven't noticed, I live in the heart of the fucking _apocalypse_ , and I'm the fucking vessel for the devil himself! If I die, I'll be doing the world a favour! Probably you, too!

October 17th  
Why're you making it sound like you've got nothing to live for? What about giving me and Dad some peace of mind, huh? What about that?

You don't wanna die, Sam, you _can't_ want that for yourself. And I don't want it either. We'll find another way.

October 18th  
I'm investigating how to summon an angel on my own. I don't need you, Dean, you don't need me. Not for this, not for anything. Got it? We're not brothers, we're just

Probably won't reply much. I'll be too busy searching, I guess.

October 19th  
It's John. I've attached the list for the ritual. Go, son, find out what's doing this, and for fuck's sake don't die. We need to know what's going on as much as you do. Ignore Dean, he's just – He gets overly emotional, as I'm sure you know.

Good luck.

October 20th

October 21st  
Oh God

Don't tell me you actually listened to that asshole, Sam – don't tell me you actually did it?

Sammy?

October 22nd

October 23rd  
The journal's still appearing – maybe it can only appear if you're still alive? I hope so.

I shouldn't have let

He stole

I never wanted this.

October 24th  
Dean, I'm still here, I'm alive. Man you've got to start trusting me!

I can't say I wasn't scared, cause I was, but it turned out okay. I mean . . . Strangest thing I've ever done, but okay, I think.

I summoned this angel, and he appears, and he looks down at me like I'm nothing - which, I guess, to him I am. He was dressed all formal, like everyone who's seen them (the ones that've lived to tell the tale) all say. Like, a suit and tie and coat and stuff. Male vessel, as I'm sure you guessed.

Anyway, he didn't ask at first why I summoned him. He thought he knew: he said, 'You are the vessel of Lucifer' – guess we got that one right, huh?

He assumed I wanted to talk to him about going to see Lucifer, or about agreeing to be his vessel or whatever, and he made to go off, but I told him to wait, cause that wasn't what I wanted _at all_ in any way. I showed him the book, and asked him why he used his angel mojo on it to make it time travel.

It was weird, he sort of cocked his head to one side, and said he didn't touch it. I thought I'd got the wrong guy, and I was worried cause you don't wanna cross any of these sons of bitches unless you can possibly help it – all they do all day is kill people, and preach about how it's a noble thing to do. Everyone says so (again, everyone who got out alive, so who knows).

But as soon as he touched it, he agreed that it was his power that it was drawing on, but he didn't remember enchanting it or whatever (I know they're not magic but I can't think of a word that doesn't imply that they're good and holy – I pray, but no way I pray to those bastards).

He said he hadn't touched the journal before today, but he'd check it out.

So, there we go! Case solved! Our book got touched by an angel. Even if he can't remember doing it, or even fathom why he'd do it.

October 25th  
Sam, you've _got_ to put something on those days where you don't have anything to say, or no time, or whatever – like, some initials, or something! Just so I know you're alive! I thought Dad had gone and got

We've fallen out, again, over the ritual he gave you. I said he'd signed your death warrant, and that he cared more about finding the truth than keeping you safe . . . Well, as safe as possible – I guess that's relative, huh?

October 26th  
Fine, I'll leave SW on the days when I can't say anything much to you – stop worrying, _Mom_.

I'm sorry, Dean. I have to admit, I was a bit stupid . . . We're a lot alike, your Dad and I – I cared more about revenge, and summoning that thing for answers, than I did about my own life. I see now it's stupid. Sorry I said those things, too.

And another thing – seems like you and your Dad were getting on fine til I came along. Kinda looks like everywhere I go I cause destruction, like I'm cursed or something. Well, I'm cursed enough being Lucifer's vessel, but everyone I

All my friends and family end up hurt or dead. That's just the facts.

October 27th  
Well, tough, Sammy, cause I've already been talking to you for a few months – too late to turn back now! I'm officially under the Sam's-friends-and-family-death-curse. Wow, that's a really stupid name. Oh, right! That's cause it's a stupid idea!

You are _not_ cursed, Sam. End of story.

SW? What's your last name?

And another thing. You find a way to gank that angel, Sammy?

October 28th  
Not Winchester, if that's what you mean. I'd like to think alarm bells would've gone off a bit sooner if we had the same surname, don't you think?

Wesson. Sam Wesson, nice to meet you. Sucky name, though. Well, aside from Smith and Wesson arms, which we have a little too much need for where I come from. 'Winchester' is weapons, too, right? Like the rifle?

Nope, no official way, yet. I did shoot him just the once, but he didn't even flinch, so I guess I'm back to square one. I'm working on it, but . . . I mean, I don't really wanna kill him, Dean. What if he dies, and the book dies with him?

October 29th  
Cross that bridge when we come to it, Sam. What does he wear, anyway, in case he turns up at my end? If they can make books time travel, I'd bet my bottom dollar _they_ can, too.

October 30th  
He turned up again today, looking a little bit suspicious. First thing he asks me is who it travels to – I said you, Dean Winchester.

I swear, Dean, he'd been nothing but civil so far – actually, he kinda looks at me like he doesn't wanna be near me at all, probably cause of the vessel thing. It doesn't matter. Point is, as soon as he heard your name, he sort of . . . He looked upset, or shocked. Like, he eyes widened slightly, and I saw him swallow, which are things angels don't do, ever (they don't _need_ to – most of them ride around in dead vessels anyway, only a few are still alive).

He wanted to say more – he wanted to ask more, too, I could tell, but he just said he'd make some inquiries and then vanished in a flurry of wings . Well, I say that, but you can only really _hear_ the wings – real angels don't show them much, until they die, and then the image of them is burnt into the ground forever. You can always tell when there's been a big showdown in a town or city, cause there's all these wings burnt into the ground like charcoal, overlapping and different sizes and stuff, and you know loads of them were 'martyred' or whatever they want to call it.

Thing is, Dean, I think he knows you, or knew you. Have you ever

It sounds stupid, but do you think you've ever run into an angel before? One who wears a white shirt and blue tie, a tan trenchcoat? He's got blue eyes, brown hair – he just looks like a regular guy, but he calls himself Castiel.

October 31st  
Son of a bitch.


	5. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos!! I'll add more chapters when I've got spare moments :))

November 1st  
Why are you always so dramatic? You heard of him? – or are you annoyed cause you don't know him, and we're back to square 1?

November 2nd  
Is this the guy you're looking for? I caught him tailing me a few weeks back. Thought he could be some high-level demon who wanted to get to Dad or something – managed to snap this shot of him. Is this Castiel?

There's something else you have to know about today, Sammy. Today me and Dad went

We were in Illinois so we went to Greenville Cemetery. That's where Mom's buried. I thought since my deal's due in a few months, I should really go and

Dad didn't like it at all, of course. He never goes there cause he says it's . . . _Unholy ground_ , or whatever. Deaths caused by something that evil usually are. He never really found out what did it, but he's sure it's evil enough to mean we should stay away. Either that, or he knows what killed her, and he won't tell me. Wouldn't be the first major secret he's kept from me, would it? You're proof of that.

So, obviously, we fought about it. He was really angry, but he dropped me off at the cemetery anyway. He didn't even stop the car, basically – just chucked me out. He left me there for hours so I just talked to

What I mean is, I paid my last respects to her. Until he came back, which was . . . an hour ago. It's getting close to midnight now, but he won't stop driving away from that place. We're headed to South Dakota.

I hate writing all this stuff down on paper but I think it's important that you know.

November 3rd  
I'm sorry, Dean. If it's any condolence at all to you, I really wish I'd been born to be your brother. This life I live now isn't really

It's not life like you know it, it feels just like I'm running around, killing all these tiny, insignificant evil creatures – it feels like I'm mopping the floor while the house is on fire, you know? It doesn't make any fucking difference, but if I'd grown up with you, I'd have a family, and there'd still be time to

Yeah, that's the guy. I have no idea who the vessel is – I wonder if he used time travel to ever so subtly tail you before you even knew about the meeting?

Did he look like he knew you, at all? He really did look shocked when he heard your name.

November 4th  
That's the guy. I saw him yesterday, too: he was on the other side of the street, I was sure of it, but I went over and he'd vanished into the crowd (or he'd just _vanished_ , is more likely). No wings, like you say. Holy tax accountant look going on. He looks like a light breeze might knock him over – I did wonder for a second if you had the wrong guy, but as soon as he disappeared, I knew you were right. Dad asked what I was looking at, but I just said it was some girl I'd met before. I don't know whether or not to tell him about the angels. If he found out they're as awful as you say they are, it'll destroy him, probably.

I mean that . . . When I was little, I asked him once why it was okay to kill things like we did. He said, 'because we're on the right side'. He didn't know that both sides are as bad as each other, and neither did I. Like I say, I only asked once. His answer was always enough – he was judge, jury and executioner, and I never even thought that once, _just_ once, he might be wrong. Not even when I was 18, 19. That was a mistake, I think.

Bet you never asked whether killing was right or wrong – not in a bad way, just . . . You never had the luxury, you know? Like, you have to kill zombies, or you'll die. You can't exactly wonder who they used to be, or if they had a family or whatever. You don't see many zombie hunters in movies stopping to deliver last rights, anyway, do you?

November 5th  
True, but then again, I don't see many zombie hunters in movies, cause we don't have many movies. We don't have a lot of electricity, aside from places like Pamela's where they've got a generator that can run on plant oil or something – I don't know exactly how it works, all I know is that when I'm there, I can occasionally catch a really old movie on VHS (proof that they can survive the end of the world), and I'm not freezing my butt of in an abandoned wreck of a house, or a piece-of-crap car.

But rather a piece of crap car than a shiny, well-kept one.

November 6th  
Hey! What have you got against shiny-well-kept cars?! Careful or I'll this book right outta the window of _my_ one.

Saw Castiel today. He sort of . . . Nodded at me, like he was greeting me. I nodded back, cause I guess he didn't want me to approach him to eagerly. Maybe he's being watched?

November 7th  
When you see a nice car, it only means one thing: demons. And not your typical asshat either – like, Don Corleone (I'll never get tired of that movie – all the hunters love it, especially the really old guys who have to stay and rest permanently, cause it reminds them of when they were really young). They have all these other demons who keep them nice and clean and well looked-after for them, cause they're so important and powerful.

What I'm saying is, these days, people fear the nice cars cause they know what comes with them, and it's never good. Hell, a car like yours, these days? It's black, and shiny, and I bet it's got a really good engine – so, that'd be Famine's. After all, he does ride the black horse . Kinda stupid how they colour-code themselves for you to recognise, like a spotter's guide, but if you learn one thing living here, it's that the Bible has pretty strict rules about everything that's gotta go down – falling stars, plagues, genocide etc. It's pretty bad to read about, but living it . . .

Did you ever find anything out about the Horsemen? – Any way to stop them?

November 8th  
Fraid not, Sammy. Bobby's working as hard as he can on it, but he's started asking more questions. Guess I'll have to tell him about you sooner or later, huh – Is that alright with you?

November 9th  
That's fine, Dean. The guy sounds like family – besides, what can he do? Other than burn the journal. Um, maybe keep it out of his reach. It didn't end that well with your Dad, after all.

Maybe Castiel might know how to deal with them . . . But he's part of the God-squad, so he might not wanna tell us. Although he does sound like he shouldn't be doing what he's doing – following you – I mean, he's all careful about it, you know? Like he doesn't want to get caught.

I saw him today, too. Can angels get drunk, do you reckon?

November 10th  
Not sure, but now you mention it, he did look a bit . . . _Bukowski_ last time I saw him. He always looks a bit lopsided though, doesn't he? I mean, with the tie and all.

Finally got around to telling Bobby about you – Dad thought it'd be a good time to go visit him, after the anniversary, so we've been travelling back to Sioux Falls since we finished up our last demon case. He plans on leaving me with Bobby, I can tell. I think it's partly cause of Mom, and partly cause the things we hunt keep bringing up my deal, but none of them will tell me who holds the contract. And Dad, well, he isn't

It's not nice to watch him go to work on one of those things. I hate them, obviously, but there's always a host, and they pretty much always die. Sure hope you don't have to deal with as much torture as I do, I hate it all.

November 11th  
I hear you. I remember being really young, and I was being looked after by my godfather. I used to live in his trailer sometimes – he'd drive around, and sometimes look after me, and other times he palmed me off on other people. Whatever. Point is, he was a bit . . . I mean, I don't think he cared about damaging the host of a demon to get what he wanted.

Once we were in California _somewhere_ and it was late, and he'd gone out on a demon hunt or something. I was about 8 so I didn't pay as much attention as perhaps I should have. I went to sleep but then I woke up, and I couldn't figure out why. I listened for a while just staring up at the ceiling, and I realised it was just these thumping noises, and a dull sort of . . . Cracking sound, happening every few minutes. Whimpers, too. I wondered if maybe he was outside hurt and he needed my help to get in, but he said never to open the door and to always stay inside, so I didn't. I just looked out of the window and he had this girl outside and he was

Well, you can imagine. There was blood everywhere, it was hideous and I think that image will be forever etched onto my mind. I didn't sleep for two weeks.

What did Bobby think of me? Has he said anything?

November 12th  
Glad we're on the same page there, Sam. When I was young, the amount of times I got told to wait in the car, but I never did, and I really, really regret it now, the things I saw . . . It's not like he's a bad guy, it's just he takes out what happened to Mom on everything he hunts and catches.

Anyway. I was helping Bobby out (he's got a scrapyard, 'Singer Salvage') searching for useable parts in a few new scrapped cars he's had in, and Dad was out doing _something_ or other – he doesn't tell me where he goes a lot, and it drives me crazy, but that's just how it's always been. Like, _always_.

The scrapyard's like my natural environment, cause I love working on cars, especially the Impala. I could be a mechanic, you know. I think all the time about if there'd been no deal, if Dad had died, and I didn't have this obligation to bring him back, to keep hunting . . . I think I'd like to work with Bobby. He's like my Uncle, anyway.

I wonder what you'd be if you weren't where – if you weren't _when_ you are. Probably a lawyer, cause you argue like one, and you're stubborn. It comes across in your writing.

You'd love the scrapyard, Sammy – full of old, crapped-out cars! Not a shiny one in sight, except my baby, of course. But, anyway, I got talking to Bobby about you. He read some of this, too (sorry about the engine oil, I'll try and wash it off, but it's not that bad, right?). He said he likes you, but he did sort of reel a bit at the whole 'should have been brothers' spiel. He just sort of sat back for a while and had a drink.

He's promised to hit the books again on the Horsemen for you, to see if there's anything he's missed, but he said he doesn't recall seeing anything about them yet – well, _outside_ of the Bible, that is.

November 13th  
Only lawyers I've ever seen are in old mafia movies. Apparently it's possible to be one _without_ defending some scumbag criminal – I mean, I've heard, but I don't know much about it.

Alright fine, I'm stubborn. Got yelled at as much by Jo when I last left her.

I'll have to make a trip to Sioux Falls sometime. I'm in Nebraska right now – I was in Colorado, but then I heard War was on a little excursion there. Something about tricking citizens into thinking their families and friends were demons, and killing them for it. I don't wanna get involved in any of that. I mean, _real_ demons are bad enough, but being forced to kill the people you love? I couldn't stomach people doing that in front of me, much less do it myself.

So I was bravely retreating from there. I wouldn't usually come here in the winter unless I was forced to anyway. It always snows – I don't know what it was like in your time, but there's all these ash clouds and constantly burning fires and stuff, and it's done weird things to the climate. I don't know much about it, other than what I've learned off of others I've met. One of them was an old – like, _super_ old – climatologist, who used to be a professor. I was really young so I couldn't understand what he was talking about most of the time, but I got the gist. Everything got fucked up as soon as the Apocalypse started. End of story.

So I'm currently sitting barricaded into this former suburban house, and thank _fuck_ it has a fireplace. There's a lot of smoke around which, while it makes your clothes stink, is good cause you can have a smoking chimney without anyone noticing. There was a big coat in the closet – one of the ones with the furry hoods – so I guess Christmas came early for me, eh?

November 14th  
I love that. Like, seriously dude, you're sitting in some Apocalyptic wasteland, fires everywhere and snow falling all the damn time, but 'Christmas came early' for you? Gotta be optimistic, eh, Sammy?

You ever get to go to school? I mean, I know you're smart, I can tell from your writing, but like – how can you even write? Did someone teach you? I don't suppose you ever had high school where you're from.

Careful you don't get caught, Sam.

Here's a picture of Bobby for you. He complained a lot when I took this – probably just upset he didn't get a chance to comb his beard or something.

November 15th  
I didn't learn to write til I was 15. Like, recently, there have been a few sons and daughters of old school teachers, and hunters who can write and stuff, and they've been going around teaching the rest of us how to write. Like, 'just in case', and for communication purposes (letters to loved ones, if they can find someone to deliver them across the states for them). I mean, you thought _I_ was optimistic, but these guys are teaching kids to read and write who could easily be dead, or turn into a zombie, the next day. It's crazy, really.

So, I sat there, next to all these little kids learning to read and write, and I was just happy I was alive and learning something that was totally unrelated to hunting, or killing, or demons or whatever. They complained, but they didn't know how lucky they were. I was pathetically happy when I wrote my name for the first time – like, honestly, Dean, it was stupid.

And _reading_. I could read a little, cause my Mom taught me a bit before she died, but not much (only a few words). But I got taught how to read _books_. Before, I had to memorise all these exorcisms by word of mouth, but now? I could write them all down, and it was such a freaking weight off.

The teachers are probably all dead – or, at least, scattered. I'll never see them again, anyway. Bobby kinda looks like one of them. Or maybe I just can't see past the beard.

November 16th  
You big nerd. I hated school, and you're acting like reading and writing are the holy freaking grail! Man do I feel ungrateful now. It was such an uphill struggle ever getting me to do anything at school that I'm surprised I can even read this now – well, until Dad got involved. If they threatened to call Dad I'd shut up real quick, cause, well . . . You don't get to bother him when he's at work. Ever.

Anyway. All Bobby's found so far is this omen of War, something about rivers running red with blood when he's near. So, if you're still in your house in Nebraska and the water starts coming out of the tab all red and thick, get out of there ASAP (that is, if you still have running water there).

We're just looking into some stuff about Famine now, then Pestilence. We haven't really found anything on Death yet though, but I'll report back.

Castiel lingers where he thinks we can't see him. I mean, he's a damn _angel_ – you think he'd be able to go invisible? But maybe that's not the point. Maybe he wants me to know he's there, but can't talk to me. Whatever, it's annoying. I'm gonna confront him. Bobby's getting annoyed, too, cause it's his house and ' _I'll be damned if some angel's gonna be creepin' me in my sleep_ '. Didn't have the heart to tell him that he doesn't really seem interested in him, just you and me.

Still haven't told Dad about Cas yet. He's got enough going on.

November 17th  
A man came to the house today, which was strange, cause I didn't think there was anyone about.

I heard something down the hall, and even though I'd salted all the doors and barricaded myself into the room with the fireplace with all the furniture I could find, I had to check it out. If you find someone else – zombie, demon or human – you have to deal with it. You can't afford to ignore anyone, unless you know _for sure_ that the best course of action is to hide. And I didn't. So, I went.

Obviously I had my shotgun, and I ditched the big coat, cause it was too loud – what's the point in being nice and warm if you're dead, right?

He was standing at the end of the hallway, just sort of smirking, so I threw some holy water on him, but nothing happened. I guessed he was human, cause there's no way a zombie hasn't got blood all over them to boot.

_But the silver test!_ I hear you cry. Don't worry, we shook hands – I wear my Mom's silver wedding ring on my pinky. It's the sneakiest way of doing the test. But, again, no dice.

I considered that maybe Castiel had gotten himself another vessel, but he didn't have the same awkward way of talking. Still, I'd really like it if we came up with some way of telling if someone's an angel or not right about now. Things to do: invent angel-proofing and test.

He asked if we met before, but I told him we hadn't. It's not even like I have _one of those faces_ , though. He seems a little eccentric. His name's John, but I'm not sure I believe that. He was just passing by, and he wanted to see if he could stay for the night, when he found me in here, and he guessed the house was taken.

It's really, really cold and I'm not about to kick a fellow hunter – a fellow human being – out on his ass right now. So, I said he could stay, but that I just had to do some writing in my journal before midnight.

I got this thing out, and started writing, and here we are. He's watching me right now, but I think it's less me he's watching, and more the journal.

He's offered me some instant soup sachets, I think from his pockets. He's gonna make some now, but obviously I won't have any til he's had some. But at least I can hold it for a while, it is fucking freezing.

Maybe I should feel more grateful, but it kinda feels like he's watching me.

November 18th  
He sounds a bit shady, Sammy. Be careful, obviously. But don't pass up free food – that's a lesson I learned ages ago. I mean, let him test it, but if anything happens and you don't reply, I'll flag down Cas to go and have a look at you.

Oh yeah, that's my main story, actually – that Cas and I are now on speaking terms. And, really, his voice is nothing like I expected. Dude sounds like he's been gargling with gravel for a week. I guess angels don't talk a lot, and when they do talk, they use freaky angel mojo.

I rounded on him, and backed him into a corner, after he basically crept up on me while I was under the hood on the Impala. I hit my head on the hood, said some shit angels probably don't like to hear, and then yelled at him for getting so close that he surprised me when I saw him there.

He apologised, but said he couldn't talk. He's not technically allowed to.

So, I said I needed him, and I asked him about that shady guy you were talking about. He said not to worry: it's one of his 'brothers', but not one he's officially supposed to be in contact with, cause he went into hiding a few millennia ago, and only started taking to Cas again after the Apocalypse. He sent him who he sent to watch over you. How about that, Sammy? An angel each. Just, _great_.

But I don't think he'll try and betray you to the God squad, if you're worried about him ratting you out. Cas did say that he's a little 'unorthodox', though, so I'd watch out. That could mean anything from drawing a moustache on your face while you're asleep to burning down the house at the snap of his fingers. Who knows, right?

But, yeah. Thought you'd want to know who you're sleeping next to

Not in a – I mean, like, who you're currently

Like, your room mate, but like 

It'd be totally fine if

. . . I'm gonna stop writing now.

November 19th  
Yeah I think you'd better stop, Dean. I _think_ I just died of second-hand embarrassment.

So I confronted 'John', which of _course_ was a fake name – just one of 'Jesus' buddies' who he thought was a pretty cool guy, apparently. That's a bit . . . Beyond me.

Get this: he's not just an angel, he's a freaking _Archangel_. He's _Gabriel_.

November 20th  
Holy crap. The Archangel Gabriel gave you soup. Claim to fame, eh, Sammy?

Cas says you've got a bit of a problem in the form of Famine approaching from the East – he says he's in Iowa, but he's progressing slowly, so you have a few days left of cosy fireplaces and chatting with Archangels before you're allowed to leave.

November 21st  
Gabriel is . . . Strange. But not, like, in the way that Castiel is strange (by the way, when did 'Castiel' become 'Cas'? Dude, I think it's probably blasphemy to give angels of the Lord nicknames). He's more like some overly suggestive guy you'd meet in a bar. Or, well, behind one.

I asked him why he didn't say he was an Archangel, and he said he thought I'd freak out – I said fair enough. I mean, round here, announcing you're an an angel, no less an _archangel_ , is a pretty good way to scare people off. All they bring is blood, pain and eventually death. Sad, but true, he said.

I asked him why he wasn't like that ( _if_ he wasn't like that). He just sighed and said he fell out with his brothers and sisters aeons ago, and he was in 'witness protection' (?), pretending to be a Trickster this whole time (don't know if you've ever met one, but they're powerful, and they have a dark sense of humour, and they like giving people their just deserts – nowadays, it's mainly demons they trick, so they're mainly a force for good, but they used to pray on humans in the past according to lore).

Apparently, there's no easy way to hide from angels, even if you fool them into thinking you're some two-bit supernatural nasty. Or so he says. I think he sensed I was suspicious, though, and he started going on about how he was only here to look after me, and cause Castiel was one of his favourite little brothers, blah blah blah.

I think he wants to be here though, just cause he thinks he might find a way to help us out of this mess.

November 22nd  
Suggestive Trickster? Careful Sammy, his next trick might be to magically get into your pants.

November 23rd  
 _Dean_! Just – why, man?! Gross!

November 24th  
Yeah, you're right. Even grossed myself out a little with that one. Yikes.

November 25th  
Yikes is right. Gabriel saw what you wrote and he laughed so hard soup came out of his nose.

The best thing about having him around is that he just sort of makes food appear out of nowhere, which is a _massive_ relief, seeing as this house wasn't that well stocked and I'm at least two states over from my nearest supplier that I know is a sure-thing in terms of food. People usually grow their own, weather permitting, so you've gotta be smart about who you make friends with.

Well, I guess making friends with an _Archangel_ counts as a good call. Dude's obsessed with this stuff he calls 'candy' – I don't know, man, it all tastes like chemicals to me. But it's really sweet and he says it's good for energy, so whatever.

The guy never talks about his brothers or sisters - not even Castiel, really. It's like he wants to forget he's related to them. He'd much rather talk about all the dumb tricks he's played on demons recently. If you ask him about that he literally _will not stop talking_. It is interesting, though, thankfully - he's seen some stuff like you wouldn't believe - even _I_ was impressed.

November 26th  
Dude, you've never had candy before? Like, of _any_ sort?!

Jeez, as if I needed any more reason to try and stop the world from ending! Tell me you have pie, though, right? If not, I weep for humanity.

November 27th  
I've only had it once. Home-made, some woman my Godfather knew in Washington. I can hardly remember it, but I know it was good. I never saw her again, though. He never liked to stay in one place too long, or let me get to know people, cause if I did then I'd get attached and if I got attached then I'd be weak and if I was weak I would be able to kill them if they

Well I _guess_ that was the reason. Whatever the reason really was, it wasn't said aloud, but even as a kid I could kind of tell. I think I said before, he wasn't a bad guy, he just got drunk and angry and he took it out on monsters and

I asked Gabriel if he knew whether he was still alive or not. He said he wasn't – I figured as much, anyway. I haven't seen him since he dumped my ass at some outpost in Texas at 15.

November 28th  
I know what you mean. Dad drinks too, obviously. It's not his fault, he's just lost a lot. I try not to blame him when he gets angry.

Speaking of which – I told Dad about Cas today. He demanded to see him, obviously, and drove back here probably 50 over the limit just to do so. Just in case he was some supernatural fugly that I should've known better than to make friends with, or whatever. The usual drill.

After about ten minutes, Dad asked the question I could see he'd been wanting to ask from the jump. " _Can you get Dean out of his deal?_ " And Cas just sort of shifted where he was, looking at his shoes – anywhere but Dad's face.

Dad turned around again and left. It kinda hurts that Dad wasn't back for me – well, I mean he was asking a question for me, but he wasn't really back for me.

I thought he was just working super hard on finding whatever killed Mom now, but I realised the real reason he keeps leaving is cause he can't stand to even be in the same room as me; he can't look me in the eye, just like Cas couldn't look him in the eye. I guess nobody told him that avoiding the problem doesn't make it just go away. I'm just sad that I'm this big problem for him. All I ever wanted to do was make him proud, but now

He's like . . . _Consumed_ by guilt, so he tries to become consumed with hunting instead. It's dumb, it's selfish, and I just want him back and on my side.

November 29th  
Gabriel says something's up. He vanished for a while, then came back, and he says Pestilence – and his army of Croatoans – is on his way North. He says we have to move to get out of here now. Oh well – having a house, with a fireplace and everything, was nice for a while.

Can you ask Cas to track him, to see where he's going? What he's doing?

November 30th  
Holy crap Sam – they're onto you. I mean, I'm not sure, but they might know Gabriel's there, and I think they're coming after him.

Can you see what's happening? They're forcing you both further North. I'll bet you anything Death will come in from the North, too, then they'll have you cornered from all sides. Sammy, I think you need to tell your friendly neighbourhood archangel to get the hell out of dodge, for his sake _and_ yours.

Cas says he'll get on it, but his superiors have called him back to his time. I think they might be onto him, Sam. I don't think we can rely on these angels anymore.


	6. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for the kudos!! More soon.

December 1st  
He refused outright to leave me. I've explained to him in as many different ways as I can that they're onto him, trying to find him – that he should go into hiding again – and every time he just purses his lips and shakes his head, or makes some stupid joke about how I'm turning into a 'mother hen', which _isn't funny_. I'm not just concerned for him, I'm concerned for _both_ of us. If the Horsemen get ahold of him and I'm there too, who knows what they'll do to me?

We're going to go further North. We're headed to South Dakota, but it's gonna be slow progress because Gabriel doesn't want to just 'zap' us there, as he put it, in case it attracts any unwanted attention when a human 'has traces of Enochian magic on them' (without being dead, that is). That added to the fact that no cars around here will start because of how freakin old and cold and worn out they are, makes for slow progress.

Didn't you say Bobby's house is in South Dakota? Sioux Falls, right?

December 2nd  
Yeah, I did – maybe you can check it out, see if Singer Salvage is still standing in 50 years' time?

Actually it is _kinda_ funny. I mean, the dude's an _archangel_ , I'm sure he can look after himself, Sammy. I don't even think you can kill them, can you? At least, _I've_ never heard of any way of killing them, which is kinda unusual. Let's just say Dad's journal is much thicker than this one, and I've read every page. It misses out hardly anything. Except one slip with a pair of Vetalas one time – just, FYI, they hunt in twos, _not_ alone.

I haven't heard from Dad in a little while, but Bobby's keeping me busy with loads of hunts. I've got my Baby, the open road . . . I mean, if you're gonna die in a few months, you might as well spend them doing what you love, right? Killing as many evil sons-of-bitches as possible. I mean, yeah, it's kinda lonely without Dad here, but motel fees are cheaper for a single room.

December 3rd  
Guess you'll just have to put up with my lousy company, then, won't you? I'm there with you in spirit, man.

I wonder all the time what it would be like to travel on the road with you. I've been thinking about it loads recently, walking through the woods and trying to keep North (my compass skills are well-honed by now, but trying to keep heading in one direction with giant burning piles of . . . _Stuff_ in the way, and demons hanging around, is pretty much impossible). Gabriel's a nightmare – he complains the whole time, but then refuses to just transport us anywhere. He bitches about being cold and hungry, when I know for a _fact_ he could just magic-up some extra clothes or candy or whatever.

I guess he's never been without shelter for a long time before. I'm used to all this continuous hiking, hunting, foraging and camping, but he's kind of spoiled if you ask me. He's not even carrying the tent and he lags behind so much.

December 4th  
Camping – don't talk to me about camping. Rather a motel room with gross stains everywhere than a tent any day.

But I know what you mean about _going without_. I know that usually my Dad would sacrifice food, blankets, clothes etc. so I could be full or warm, but sometimes there really wasn't enough to go around. When you're stuck out in the wilderness in the freezing cold, you sort of learn to man up, as you say.

Wow, he sounds like such a princess. Seriously, though, Sammy – surely you should have found a semi-functioning car by now?

December 5th  
Nope. Not even a motorbike. We're kind of . . . In the middle of nowhere. All I can tell is that the place was firebombed at some point – the ground's totally scorched. But it must have been like _right_ at the start of the Apocalypse, cause even the rubble's gone down to nothing with years of people stomping through and hosting fire-fights.

I'm glad I packed extra pens, or I wouldn't be able to write you back right now. True enough, I _almost_ can't write you back anyway cause my fingers are so damn cold, but with no pen there wouldn't even be chicken scratches here for you.

December 6th

December 7th  
Dean? Are you okay?

The diary disappeared last night, so it must've gone _somewhere_. Why didn't you write me back?

December 8th

December 9th  
Dammit Dean!

Well, now I know how fucking petrified you were when I didn't reply for a few days. I'll be sure never to do that again.

What happened? Please, man, you've got a few months, right? You can't

Write back when you can.

December 10th  
DW

December 11th  
Well at least I know you're alive now. And you've gotta be conscious, cause look, you wrote your initials. Well, I _assume_ it was you, no one else knows to do that. Maybe your Dad does, but

I'm gonna stop writing now.

December 12th  
Sorry I didn't reply, Sammy. Had you going for a few days, there, didn't I? Gabriel's right, you _are_ a mother hen.

December 13th  
That's not funny, Dean! What happened?!

December 14th  
Ran into an old buddy – well, I _say_ buddy. You know I told you about how me and Dad were hunting one of those 'special children' with the psychic powers back round the time I made my deal for Dad's life? Well, this guy Gordon was helping us find them, but we had this major disagreement with him. See, he wanted to kill all these kids – no older than you, and no more evil. Like, usually 'if it's supernatural, we kill it' but I didn't wanna kill them. They were humans, right?

Anyway, Dad was on the fence, but we decided this guy was kind of unhinged, so we parted ways, and not on good terms. Then he hears about how we were there the night the Devil's gate opened – he put two and two together and got five, obviously. He assumed we'd helped open it rather than close it. He came looking for us, and he wanted to kill us.

Only thing is, he'd gone and gotten himself turned into a damn vampire, the dumb son of a bitch. When he found me, not only was he pissed as hell, but he decided he wanted to damn near drain me of blood. I lost a lot before Bobby could come find me – luckily, I'd called him as soon as I knew Gordon was onto me. He killed the bastard, but I ended up in hospital. Got myself checked out AMA though. And now, here we are. Questions?

December 15th  
Uh, I _think_ you just about covered it. That guy sounds like a freaking nutcase. I'm glad he's dead – vampires have a nasty habit of staying alive _forever_ if someone doesn't get rid of them.

He had a grudge against the special children, huh? Guess that just makes me even more glad he's dead. I mean, I am one of them, right? All the demons I've met have told me so. I've got the demon blood. I'm a psychic, like those kids you were hunting.

Maybe . . . Maybe if you didn't know me, you'd

I mean, you wouldn't want to kill me, necessarily, but you'd hunt me, right? I mean, I am a

Well, I'm a freak, aren't I? I know it.

What did you do with the kids, once you found them?

December 16th  
Sam. We've been over this. You _aren't_ a freak. And no, I wouldn't hunt my own brother, would I? If you lived now, with me, you'd be my brother, but since you live in a crazy, fucked up world, I don't see it as a bad thing that sometimes you see the future. I mean, it gives you an early warning, right?

We didn't do anything to them. They all died, actually – except that one kid, Jake Talley. He was the one that killed them all, it was like a freaking Battle Royale or something. The crazy-ass demon that cooked up the whole plan only wanted one kid to survive and, well, he was in the army. The others didn't stand a chance. I'm not proud of how badly I failed them.

December 17th  
Why was I born now, and all those kids born then? It just doesn't make sense!

That guy sounds . . . Well, scary. Insane, actually. I didn't think I'd ever be glad that I lived now instead of in your time, but considering I'd probably have had to fight that guy off if I lived in 2008, I'm sort of relieved. He was the one that killed th

I had a dream last night that I think might have been a vision, but I'm not too sure. I was driving – I can't tell what the car was, but it had leather seats and a leather steering wheel – and then suddenly, this huge semi-truck went into the side of us, and my head hit the glass, and I blacked out.

It felt so real . . . I wasn't alone. I think there might have been someone in the passenger seat, or in the back – or both? It must've been Gabriel. It was night-time, definitely. Strangely, we were driving on a highway, on the correct side of the road and everything – I usually just drive in the middle, it makes it easier to dodge if someone's trying to hit you. I guess I'll just have to avoid driving at night.

It's a week til Christmas – yup, we still have Christmas here. Unfortunately that means it's just gonna get colder and colder, which isn't helpful at all. We're barely doing five miles a day right now, cause Gabriel's so slow, and visibility's so poor, and I'm getting exhausted so easily.

December 18th  
It's kinda hard to attach things to this journal, but will these fit you? I saw you complaining about your fingers getting cold and, now I'm back to driving on my own and stopping at gas stations, I was able to get you these. What do you think? They your style?

December 19th  
Dean. They're _pink_.

December 20th  
What's wrong, Sammy? Don't be afraid to get in touch with your feminine side! It was hard to get ones that big in that colour, you know. Had to size you up from that one photo you sent a while back.

Merry Christmas, bro. A little early, yeah, but I figured making you wait for gloves in the middle of winter would be a little cruel.

December 21st  
Gabriel's laughing his butt off at me wearing these, but it's easy to see he's just jealous. He keeps eyeing them. I'd better keep them on my person at all times, or he'll have them off me and – really – am I gonna be able to fist-fight an archangel for a pair of pink gloves? I don't think so.

Thanks, Dean. I do appreciate them, even if they're pink. I mean, who's gonna see them, right? Well, except God's most sarcastic archangel, but whatever.

I'm trying to find something that you won't have already to give you – I mean, what's the point in having a buddy from the future, if you can't get them to give you stuff from the future?

December 22nd  
You're welcome – don't worry, I'm sure you'll be able to keep ahold of them.

Bobby's having his friend Ellen over for Christmas, like he does every year. She's a hunter, and she used to have this hunter's bar before demons burned it down almost a year ago. Ellen's husband used to hunt with my Dad, but then he got killed by a demon. I think Ellen's always had a grudge against Dad over it, cause she won't speak to him in full sentences and she does that face at him that women do when they're super pissed, but they won't say it outright.

Since he died, Ellen's been kinda lonely. She hangs around Bobby's a lot – I think they're a bit more than friends, if you ask me.

Since Ellen never had any kids of her own, she treats me like the son she never had. I'll never admit it to her, but it's actually really nice to have someone look after you in a way that doesn't involve handing you a whiskey and teaching you to push your problems down inside so you don't accidentally talk about them.

Sometimes I think about how Ellen would be around Mom's age. I wonder if Mom would have liked Ellen, and Bobby. Would we even know Ellen and Bobby if Mom hadn't died? I don't know. Probably not.

I'm sorry you can't be around loads of people this Christmas, Sammy. I'll spill a few for you.

December 23rd  
Nah, that's okay. I mean, who needs a giant family gathering at Christmas when you've got _Gabriel?_ I mean, he was there. Like, he was the one who told Mary she was pregnant, after all. I literally cannot imagine how that went down. At all.

He pretends to be alright, but I can tell it's a tough time of the year for him. Back in Biblical times, I guess he was on alright terms with his brothers and sisters, and God was still around. Now God's gone, and his brothers and sisters would kill him if they knew he was still alive, and could get to him. He talks about them like he hates them, but I can tell it's lonely to be a peerless archangel, even with 'a snot-nosed little human' like me for company.

He especially misses Lucifer I think. I asked him what he was like the other day – just because, well . . . I _am_ his vessel. What does that say about me? – what does it say about _him_?

He said he was proud, but amazing. Taught him everything he knew. Powerful, but cruel, and full of rage. He wouldn't say anything else. I think that says it all.

I've found your gift. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. You can have it in two days' time.

December 24th  
Aww Sammy you're no fun! No peeking at presents, that's just stupid. You're stupid.

. . . And I'm drunk. Don't ever let me have several pints of eggnog again, alright?

My present for you is a lighter, got it engraved and everything, hope y'all can keep warm in the snow and stuff. Get a car and stuff. Good.

I'm glad we're doing Christmas properly this year cause it's my last one, better do it right, right? Right. That's right.

Oh man I should go to bed the paper's gone all fuzzy. Merry Christmas little bro

December 25th  
Merry Christmas Dean! Thanks for the lighter; I'll give it a test later. Just as well, really – mine's kinda crappy, and it's running out of fluid.

It's 5 a.m. but Gabriel's worse than the little kids I've encountered at various shelters around Christmas time, all getting up at stupid-o'clock to open the little presents the adults have got them. I didn't have anything for him, and he understands, cause – well, what can you get an archangel anyway, even if you're not on the run from Horsemen in an Apocalyptic wasteland?

He got me something, though. He read about your car.

Dean, he got me one just like it – said he'd been out every night while I was asleep, after making sure all the wards to keep me safe were in place, looking for an old Chevrolet Impala. And he found one – it's black, and no way near as shiny as yours, but . . . I don't know why, I felt like crying. Whatever, call me a girl and stuff, but it was just so great. A roof over our heads, an engine under the hood, tent packed up in the trunk. Good riddance!

Your gift (other than a hangover, I bet) is this: it's an amulet. They used to be pretty rare – say, in your time – but there was this old man, years ago, who lived in Kansas, who made them. No one knows what from, but there were loads of them in circulation for a while, and everyone who wanted one got one.

It's supposed to glow hot in God's presence. Thing is, I have faith – I do – but I know you'd rather have proof. So, here you are. Merry Christmas.

December 26th  
Thanks, Sammy – I love it. I'm wearing it now. You're right, I don't really believe, but at least I have this in case the big fella comes a-knocking now.

You were right about the hangover, too. Man, nothing like a bit of hair-of-the-dog. Me and Bobby are back on the road today – there's no rest for the wicked, and there's these crazy Christmas-themed murders going on in some random suburb in Michigan according to one of Bobby's contacts that need sorting out. I hate to think what kind of monster could be killing people with tinsel.

Dad didn't come home for Christmas. He didn't even call. It's not the first time it's happened, but it'll be the last. I just wish he could find it in himself to come and be a man about this – I'm gonna die, yeah, but ignoring me won't make my last year any longer. But I had you to talk to, so that's just as good, right?

p.s. Gabriel sounds like a great guy. I like him much better now. You'd better take care of that damn car! I'd cry, too, if someone had given me a car as good as Baby. I'd cry a freaking river with happiness.

December 27th  
Demons don't observe Christmas, apparently. The car already has a few extra dents in it (it wasn't pristine in the first place) from where a couple tried to run us off the road. No semi-trucks, fortunately. But I had to let Gabriel take the wheel for a little while (which was freaking horrifying) while I shot their tyres out. I tried to avoid hitting the hosts, but in the end it was all I could do to slow them down a bit. You can't drive if you can't see.

We crossed the South Dakota state line just now. We stop at night, so no one can see us from the lights. This thing camouflages pretty well in the dark, which is pretty fortunate. Gabriel says he can sense demons in our area – Horsemen, too.

We need to make a stop in a city or a suburb for food, cause even Gabriel doesn't have the juice to constantly supply two people with food. He says that in the past he might have been able to conjure a five-course meal for fifty with the snap of his fingers, but now it's all he can do to keep a steady stream of candy for himself going, and a few soup packets here and there. I guess running away from heaven sort of drains your batteries.

December 28th  
Jeez, if demons ever did any damage to my Baby, it'd be the last mistake of their short, pitiful lives. Seriously, I would go apeshit. No one touches Baby. Ever.

Speaking of people going fucking crazy, that case in Michigan turned out to be the most insane case I've ever worked. Aside from nearly getting turned into a pagan sacrifice, me and Bobby had to kill Mr. And Mrs. Freaking Pagan God with a freaking Christmas tree with the freaking decorations still on it. That was a close shave if I've ever seen one. I'll never see evergreens in the same way again.

Cas hasn't been around in a few weeks now. I wonder if he got busted by the guys upstairs – I'm wondering if I should pray for him to get him to turn up or not. Would it get him into trouble? . . . Maybe Gabriel can find him, if he's back in your time?

December 29th  
I asked Gabriel about Cas, and he frowned and told me to pull over. We've been driving since dawn, but we've had to off-road a bit, and this isn't the most practical car, so it's taking forever to get to what I _hope_ will still be Sioux Falls, not Demon Central USA.

Then he did something strange: from his sleeve, I think, he pulls out this knife-sword thing – he says it's an archangel blade, which can kill any angel. Every angel has a blade, apparently, and this is his one. Then he hands it to me, and says to defend myself with it as best I can if he doesn't come back.

I don't know where he went exactly – other than to look for his 'pain in the ass little brother', Cas – but I asked him how he was going to defend himself without his blade, and he just smirked and said he'd be okay. He's gone now, so I'm alone again.

I don't even know where to begin. Killing something with a Christmas tree? That's pretty hardcore, even for a hunter, Dean. I wish I could hunt with you just once. That would be freaking awesome.

December 30th  
Dude, 'freaking awesome'? You've spent too much time reading my letters. Maybe

\- I was just in the middle of writing this when Cas turned up, he looks pretty beat up and there's this weird light coming out of a cut on his hand that I'm gonna need to sew up. Sammy, he's escaped from Zachariah in his time, he's been torturing him for visiting me – Sam, he's

Gabriel died rescuing him

I'm so sorry Sammy

December 31st  
This is my fault. If I didn't have his fucking blade he'd still be

He couldn't even defend

Dean, why did they hurt Cas? Why didn't they want him to visit you?

I'm going to kill Zachariah – if I ever see him, he's dead.


	7. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support!! There are descriptions of torture/violence in this chapter.

January 1st  
Sammy, don't do anything hasty. Putting yourself out in the open and going up against those winged ass-monkeys is a whole world of stupid. Definite no-no!

Not such a Happy New Year after all, huh.

I know you two were close, but I also know that he gave you that sword because he cared about you – even if he had a stupid way of showing it – and he didn't want to leave you unprotected. It was his choice, Sam! You didn't make him do anything, and this isn't your fault!

January 2nd  
But Dean, he shouldn't have even been here. He should have been in hiding still, he should never have met me!

It's official, now, Dean: everyone I've met has gotten hurt because of me. My Mom, my Dad, killed instead of me – my Godfather fucking killed himself, Pamela's blind because of a séance I wanted her to do – the only reason Jo and Ash are still alive – _that_ I know of – is cause I was smart enough to leave them before it was too late.

And now I've gotten the fucking archangel Gabriel dead? Typical fucking me. Now I'm just sitting here – didn't move all day, didn't eat, hardly slept – thinking of all the people I want to avenge, but I can't, because the only thing in common between them that I can do anything about is _me_.

January 3rd  
We need to strategise. Cas says he can't go back to his own time, because his brothers will be able to find him – that's your time, so I'm afraid he can't risk coming to help you. Suggestions? – And not 'I'm gonna kill those bastards'. You didn't survive this long by getting mad and doing something stupid. You go in smart, or you don't go in at all. Hell, if it was my choice, I'd have you do nothing.

Don't do anything stupid, Sammy. I'm begging you here, man!

January 4th  
Fine. What do you suggest?

January 5th  
Well, first go find somewhere with food. You can't defend yourself, or go hunting angels for that matter, or an empty stomach. You don't wanna drop from exhaustion before you can gank those sons of bitches.

January 6th  
Found an orchard today. The apples were alive, and only half rancid. My stomach hurts, but then again it always does when I eat after days of not eating, no matter what it is I have to eat.

Killed a demon today. The archangel killing blade works on them. Prayed to Gabriel to say thanks even though he obviously can't hear me anymore.

January 7th  
Sammy, you can't

What I mean to say is, you didn't go looking for them, did you?

It doesn't hurt to pray to someone who you aren't sure is there anymore, Sam. People do it every day where I am, and it makes them feel better.

January 8th  
Dean, I know you said about the motel rooms being cheaper when you're alone, but do you ever get lonely? I know you've got your car – believe me, I know how comforting that is now I have my own one – but do you ever miss having someone there?

January 9th  
Like you wouldn't believe, Sam. Like you wouldn't believe.

Dad called today. He was drunk, and he called to wish me a happy new year. I told him that was a week ago, and he started crying – actually sobbing, like proper drunken wailing. Obviously I've never heard that before. It's like, he was always this great big indestructible, invincible heroic guy – always there in my room, keeping me safe at night, even last year, when I could have easily done so myself. I wanted to _be_ him since I was four – hell, before that.

But these last few months, he hasn't been there, and now he's crying, and I don't know what the fuck to do. My life's falling apart, Sammy. I never even knew the guy.

January 10th  
Even these last few months not travelling with Jo and Ash I was afraid, and lonely, at night. But now Gabriel's not there, the fear, and the guilt of knowing I had even a small hand in making it so he couldn't be there next to me, keeps me awake. I haven't slept more than 45 minutes in so long.

Five demons today. Cut deep on my shin. Still fine to drive.

January 11th  
You need your sleep, dude. If you weren't sleeping in an unsafe environment where you might need to wake up at any time, I'd give you a knockout. I don't know much about sleep but I know that 45 minutes ain't enough – not even close.

January 12th  
Rogue angel turned up today. Don't know if he was doing recon or whatever, but he ran into the wrong human. Well, actually, I think he was trying to find me, but he didn't know how badly it would end for him.

He appeared in front of my car, and I knew he was an angel, because he had his angel blade out. I swerved to avoid hitting him, and got out of the car, hiding the blade. He asked if I was the vessel Lucifer was looking for so desperately, but I didn't say anything. He said his name was Uriel, and that he was to take me to Lucifer. I guess he was one of the bad ones, cause he made a pretty big show of bribing me into doing it with all sorts of meaningless shit that I don't want or need. What's the fucking point? All I have is you, Dean, and the car. That's all I have left in the world. And if I said Yes to the son of a bitch, I'd lose both of those things, for certain.

I pretended to go with him, then when he reached up to grab me and take me somewhere, I stabbed him in his stupid face. I always knew angels could die if another angel killed them – remember when I said about all the angel wings scarring the land where they'd died? – but I never knew a human could do it.

One down, I guess.

January 13th  
Holy shit, dude, you stabbed an _angel_ in the _face_?! That's hardcore. Damn!

The only thing to watch out for now, I guess, is that he might be the first of many. Tricking one of them was fine, but if more than one came after you, and you didn't have backup, you'd be screwed. Try and hide or something, okay?

Bobby got me some devil's shoestring today. Said I could keep some on me at all times, so I wouldn't start seeing the hallucinations so quick. He says it's an experiment. I say it's pretty desperate.

January 14th  
It's funny you should say 'hide' because that's exactly what I'm doing right now.

Ten demons upstairs. I'm in the basement – there's stores of jerky I think was made by hunters a few years ago, before they moved on from this place.

They're upstairs. I can hear their footsteps. What I wouldn't kill for some damn devil's shoestring right now, they've got hellhounds with them, for sure!

January 15th  
Jesus, Sam, how'd you end up stuck in a basement?!

January 16th  
I don't know, Dean! It happened really fast – yes, I'm stupid, I'm a dumbass, whatever. Just, try and help me out here!

Jeez, they're stupid. They haven't even checked for a fucking basement yet. I haven't moved in hours.

January 17th  
You still got that lighter I gave you?

Leave at night. Go up the stairs, torch the place, and run as fast as you fucking can. It's your only hope, other than getting them to hold still long enough to exorcise them.

January 18th  
Uh, well, funny you should say that.

First of all, I got out alive. Second, of course I had your damn lighter, jerk! Third, well, I kind of . . . Held them in place long enough to exorcise them.

I guess it must be a demon-blood thing? It's never, _ever_ happened to me before, like, _ever_. I guess something in me finally snapped, and I threw my hand out, and they just _couldn't_ move.

But it was only 3 of them. They all smoked out, I ran away, and now I'm hiding again. I've not got long, I can hear the rest of them calling, and howling, and I guess I've gotta ward myself in somewhere tonight.

January 19th  
How'd you _do_ that?! – here's some devil's shoestring, courtesy of Bobby. He grumbled about having to give it away – ' _you need it, boy_ ' – I just told him you need it more right now. I mean, deal's not up til March, right?

Hunted a Crocotta. I don't know if you still have them, or if you've ever encountered one, but it mimics your loved ones, and whispers 'come to me'. This one called me up. It was mimicking Mom – sounded just like I remember from when she used to sing me _Hey Jude_ before I went to sleep. I caved its head in.

No one gets to even touch my memories of her – well, except maybe you.

January 20th  
I think I might have heard that song once. It's by The Beatles, right? We had records back at Pamela's. It was

It was warm, and cosy, and I wish I hadn't been so damn stupid. I wish I'd listened to you, I wish I hadn't abandoned my friends. I wish I wasn't alone, in the dark, and the cold, with hellhounds at my door. I wish you didn't have to go through this in a month's time.

I wish I wasn't Lucifer's vessel. I wish the world didn't end. I wish I was your br

January 21st  
Sam? Are you okay? Why did you get cut off?

January 22nd  
Ever wondered why the Horsemen were closing in on your precious little Sammy?

It was the final run on the kid, Dean Winchester. We've got him now, trapped. Bet he wished he never managed to get his archangel friend killed. He was so vulnerable, it was so _easy_ , even with your pathetic devil's shoestring. Did you think that would keep us out forever? He did. He was so surprised. It was kind of cute, actually.

I can feel him, fidgeting around in here. He's screaming right now. He hates having me in his brain, controlling his body – it's actually kinda pathetic how he wants to cry so bad. Well, maybe it's from _emotional pain_ , maybe it's from . . . The other stuff.

January 23rd  
Lucifer. You son of a bitch.

January 24th  
Oh, if only! He's otherwise engaged right now, trying to find someone who'll last him the whole journey up to the town of Shithole, SD, or whatever this place is called – seems he's got the worst luck, his vessels keep exploding on him!

Don't worry, Sammy will be nice and ready for him when he comes. I've been taking good care of him, feeding him up nice and good, like my Father wanted. Bled a whole demon dry feeding him, actually. He's got quite the appetite. Or, well . . . I have. Sam's got no choice. But that's okay – I can suppress his urge to vomit.

He'll be here soon, and I can't wait to see how pleased he'll be, Sam's body all strengthened for him. He'll be _begging_ to say Yes by the time we're finished with him.

I heard it's your birthday today, Dean! You'll be, what, 30? Sammy here's supposed to be 26 on March 2nd. His birthday was _supposed_ to be in May, but what's a couple of months between demons and angels, eh? It all worked out best in the end.

Well, happy birthday – here's some of Sammy's blood splattered on the page, just for you. I hope you have an _unforgettable_ day.

January 25th  
No. I call your bluff. You can't be possessing Sam. You've stolen the diary. He's got an anti-possession tattoo, right? I can't imagine any hunter worth his salt who wouldn't have one in your awful little world, demon scum running around everywhere.

What do you mean, between angels and demons? What's going on?

How can you even touch this journal, if you're a demon, anyway? It's plastered in Enochian sigils!

January 26th  
Well I'm not touching it, am I? Sam is. It's engineered for him to want to write back, this thing – couldn't help myself, I love to imagine you squirm as you read this.

Like I'm going to tell you, _Dean Winchester_ , just how badly we fucked over your lives. You're a puppet, you moron – just like Sam here, but in a less . . . _Literal_ sense.

Oh, careful now: remember I've got your little Sammy all to myself right now. You might want to be a nicer to me – less of the threats and the nastiness, or I'll make him bite off his tongue. I'll make him rip his fingernails out, claw out his eyes, smash his own fingers with a hammer – but then, how would I be able to write these fun little messages to you? Huh. Maybe I'll just cut his pretty face up.

The tattoo was no problem. As soon as we flayed the skin over his heart off, I could just walk right in. Bandaged it up, though, don't worry – he'll be right as rain. Well . . . As long as I'm in him. I don't know if he'll survive without me or my Father in him, you know how you humans get your wounds infected so easy. Imagine it, Dean: your little brother, your Sammy, all pale and sweating, whimpering in pain in a ditch somewhere, dying a coward's death. Septicaemia: not exactly a heroic way to go, is it?

Wish you could see him Dean. Actually, here's a picture – there's me, in Sammy, and all my buddies getting the party ready for our Father to arrive and finally take what's rightfully his.

Can you see the blood on the bandages? He winces every time I move. Pathetic, really.

January 27th  
Listen, you sick son of a bitch, the only blood I care about is yours spread all over the fucking floor. I'll find a way, don't think I won't.

January 28th  
My blood? I haven't got any. It's all Sammy's finest.

Nuh-uh, Dean. I think you've got your genders wrong there – see, I'm a girl. In fact, you know me: you exorcised me once, when I helped kidnap your Daddy. Remember? Meg Masters. Sure hope you don't give all the girls that treatment. That was really painful. Nothing compared with what's in store for Sammy, but painful.

Good luck with that. You're fifty years in the past, Dean. Besides, there's the little problem of your soul being condemned to Hell, no? Maybe by the time you get here, you'll be one of us, and you'll laugh just like us as we crush his brittle bones under out boots.

Even if by some _miracle_ (sorry, have to take a minute for the irony) . . . If you managed to escape by some act of your _God_ , by the time you get here you'll be an old man, and he'll be gone: forever my Father's vessel, walking the Earth and killing all you fucking pathetic humans. There's nothing you can do. We've won.

January 29th  
There's something you haven't banked on, dumbass. You say Sam won't survive without you, or your Daddy? You think that's gonna stop him? He doesn't care whether or not he dies, moron, as long as he doesn't live long enough to see himself become a vessel for that dickbag.

Sammy, if you're in there, keep fighting. I'm sorry. I'm trying to help you, you've got to believe me. I'm with you Sam, I'm here, I'm not leaving. Please, don't give up.

January 30th  
Wow, that was so heart-wrenching I'm gonna make Sam go puke his guts up. Literally. Mmm, who wants intestines?

He doesn't even care about you, Dean. You say all this stuff about caring about him, and helping him, but he doesn't want to be helped. He hates you, and even if he didn't, he doesn't think he deserves to

I do thi

Doesn't think he deserves y

Deserves

I do

Hate

I don't h

D ea n

Hel p se n d he

l p

January 31st  
Sam, come on, buddy! Tell me this means you escaped? You got out?

You still have the journal? You got rid of that sick bitch?

She was lying about your injuries, wasn't she?

Come on Sam! I've sent Cas, he's gonna try and help you. He says it's worth the risk of being caught by his brothers over, to help you.

Please, just be okay, Sammy.


	8. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate month - but, as you may have worked out, the next one will be the last!!

February 1st  
SW

February 2nd  
Oh thank God.

February 3rd  
SW

February 4th  
Cas is trying to find you right now. He can't be too flashy, obviously, or they'll catch him right away, but he's doing his best.

To be honest, Sam, I care more about this than I do about my deal coming due in less than a month. I can at least try and help save one more life, right? Fuck my _own_ life, it's yours I'm most worried about right now, Sammy.

Could you try and tell us where you are?

February 5th  
Not sure

Chest bad

Yellow

Horsemen?

February 6th  
Cas says Famine's somewhere in the region of the border with Minnesota right now, but making slow progress. Do you know which direction you ran in? Do you know where they took you?

February 7th  
Was by a river

Not sure which direction

Sorry

Can't remember what I was

Zachariah?

February 8th  
Sam, just – if you see the shiny cars, remember to run, okay? It's hard to tie anything securely to the journal, but there's some gauze folded into the front, and there's one of those pouches of antiseptic . . . _Whatever_ it is they make that stuff out of. Important part is that you wash and apply this to the wound, okay? Then use the gauze.

It's not that bad, Sam. I'll bet 100 bucks you can pull through it. And, well, I haven't got 100 bucks just lying around right now, so I must be pretty confident, eh?

February 9th  
Thanks Dean but no money you know that we don't use

Thanks for the supplies but _painful_ stinging

Saw black shiny car earlier, thought I saw you get out

?

February 10th  
Nuh-uh, not me, Sam. You have to get out of there, just – run, if you can. Remember who the black rider is, Sam?

February 11th  
You have a shiny black car Dean

It's the only one I've ever seen

February 12th  
God dammit, Sam! It's Famine! You've gotta get out of there, before you get caught, or worse – you don't wanna go back, do you?! Now snap out of your damn brown acid trip and move!

February 13th  
Never go back Dean please

Stole shiny black car it was mine anyway Gabriel gave it to me before he

They looked mad but I'm miles away haven't crashed yet

But I'm thirsty my hands are shaking sorry for bad writing

February 14th  
What's wrong, Sam? Do you need more medicine?

February 15th  
No Dean, I'm thirsty

February 16th  
What do you mean, _thirsty_?

February 17th  
They forced me Dean I couldn't help it I had to

I'm cold, I shouldn't be sweating

February 18th  
Cas told me what's wrong with you.

It's the demon blood, isn't it, Sam?

Okay, here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna travel to Sioux Falls, which shouldn't take too long, depending on whether or not you can get on the highways, and whether or not you can fend off the demons.

Cas will meet you there. He said he can help.

I told him about 'Zachariah', and how you wrote his name. He says it's one of his brothers, in charge of the Prize Fight, and making sure it goes down.

He's going to speak to him. I sure hope he does better than Gabriel did when he went to take on those chuckleheads.

Stay strong Sammy, you'll pull through. You've made it this far, right?

February 19th  
What're you talking about Dean I never wrote that

Who's Zachariah

I saw Mom

She was pretty, Dean, but she didn't stay long and that was sad

February 20th  
That's great, Sammy. That's really great for you, honestly.

Did she say anything to you?

February 21st  
She was proud of me

Why was she proud when I'm so

Dean it's getting worse, but I think I could read a map if I had one

Send me one?

February 22nd  
I'll bet she is, Sam. I am too. It doesn't matter what they made you do, or drink, or anything. That wasn't you. Hold on, buddy, you'll get there.

Here's the map, and I hope you can find your way there. I hope there's enough left of you that isn't thirsty or crazy from

Cas went to 'seek revelation' from his superiors, and he learned the truth. He's all bloody and beaten up, and there's another one of those slashes in his neck that spews light – looks like they just missed his windpipe, they only managed a deep scratch. He's just God's luckiest little angel I guess.

I'll try and keep this simple cause I know you're tired and you can't really

The demon who killed Mom, who fed you demon blood as a kid – his name was Azazel. Zachariah and Azazel made this . . . _Pact_. They worked together. Zachariah _told_ Azazel to kill Mom before you were even born. Because, if we were born as brothers, his stupid Apocalypse wouldn't happen – he'd lose, cause together, we'd beat him. So he split us up, as well as anyone he thought might help us – placed us all in different times. Thought we'd never know each other existed. We sure showed him, eh, Sammy?

Sure hope you can understand this. Cas tells me your 'mental faculties are likely impaired from septicaemia and withdrawal', but I don't care. You deserve to read this in a lucid moment, and learn the truth, even if you are on some twisted cold turkey.

You'll see Cas soon, Sam, and then you'll be safe, and no one can hurt you anymore. I promise.

February 23rd  
I arrived Dean. This place is good but burnt down. Sorry

I saw Cas and I asked him if I was going to die and he said yes and I was a sad

February 24th  
That's not what he

I mean, he has a plan. _We're_ going to die, Sam. He's going to change everything. We won't exist. No Sam Wesson, no brotherless Dean Winchester. I don't want this life if it means you have _your_ life. I'd rather have you here by my side, even if it means forgetting any of this crap that happened.

It'll be better this way, Sam, if he can make things the way they were supposed to be.

I know I'm mainly writing to myself here, but I need to make sense of it, and if you ever read and understand it, you can too.

Cas says the first step is to ensure we learn the truth. He says he's going to go back in time, and plant the journal in the store my Dad bought it from. He's also gonna plant it the next day in the abandoned house Jo found it in, in 2057. He'll put the sigils on it so Dad finds it, and Jo finds it, and we're 'compelled' to write in it, then that's it – our journal's ready for us to find, and this whole crazy story starts itself. Ends itself too, I guess.

I'm rambling I guess. I should be asking important questions. Are you safe enough? Do you need any more medical supplies?

February 25th  
Too late, sorry

Still an awesome brother Dean

February 26th  
Cas said he spoke to you, that you begged him to change everything. He said he thinks you're going to

Well he's been wrong before, right?

February 27th  
Not wrong

Don't have long

Thank you Dean

February 28th  
You're welcome Sam. It's been a pleasure.

Cas is going back in time to protect Mary through her pregnancy to ensure she lives, and you're born. He's gonna make sure you survive, Sammy. He said he owes us, for what his brothers and sisters did to us. He says he's sure God isn't at the wheel anymore, and they've messed too much with what should have happened.

He's gonna fix everything, Sam.

It's all gonna be okay. As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you.

Not ever again. Not as long as you're my brother.

February 29th  
SW


	9. March (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final month. Epilogue will follow :))

March 1st  
Leap year day, and you waste it on just writing your initials? That's weak, bro. Wonder if you had one in your year . . . Probably not. Guess that's proof that this journal is really mine after all, eh?

My deal comes due tonight at midnight. Cas tells me tomorrow is your birthday. Imagine the two of us dying on your Birthday, eh, Sammy? We have the worst luck.

Sorry I couldn't return the gift you got me for Christmas. I'll treasure the amulet forever, I promise.

March 2nd  
Journal didn't disappear last night. Hellhounds are at the door.

Rest in Peace, Sam. I'm gonna find a way to save you, I promise. Even if I can't save myself. 

-

Father, I pray that I have done the right thing.

I do not believe my brothers and sisters were just in preventing the birth of Sam and Dean Winchester as brothers, nor do I believe they were correct to allow Armageddon to go unchecked, spoiling your beautiful creation for many years, and killing your human children with abandon; killing Gabriel, our brother, simply for trying to protect the human in his charge.

I confess that I have altered history in my attempt to restore balance. For a time I wasn't entirely sure that I was doing the right thing; but I have been watching the Winchesters grow, and their relationship develop, and now I am sure that I have done the right thing. All doubt it erased.

You know that I have seen both versions of reality, and you have allowed me to change the course of history, unimpeded. I can only presume, then, that you approve of Sam being with his brother and being courageous and supportive, to him being without his brother and dying scared and alone. Indeed, you must prefer Dean a man protective of his brother, and brave when his life is in danger, rather one who cannot express his feelings even to his own father.

I can certainly say that you could not have chosen better vessels for Lucifer and Michael, though I would expect nothing less of you.

In their smiles and brotherly bonds, I see too my own brothers, Michael and Lucifer, before the younger fell from grace. Dean, the elder, protective and obedient of his father's plan above everything else; Sam, the younger, passionate and rebellious of his father, but still so full of love for him. It saddens me, almost, that your plans will require their bond to be shattered in such a way. But I will not question you, Father, for I know that I can never possibly comprehend your plans.

My brothers and sisters forgot this, I believe. In killing Mary Winchester prematurely, they sought to _better_ your plan. They forgot that such a thing is not possible: your plan, Father, is the only correct one. So, whatever occurs, I believe, will be your will.

I look into the future, and I watch Sam and Dean; I wonder if they will ever know of the lives they almost had. I am convinced, occasionally, that they can recall them; that they are haunted men, shadowed and scared by what might have been. Sometimes a look in Dean's eye makes me think he remembers that Sam once died in 2058; a frown on Sam's face makes me think he may remember being alone, and surrounded by chaos and uncertainty, with no brother to guide him. I feel their pain: in going against my brothers to perform this task, I have cast myself out. I know what it is to be without a brother, and I know it can be indescribably painful.

This is how I know I have made the right choice. You have taught me to always spare suffering in others, even if it results in suffering for myself. I hope you agree that in this instance, I have done just that.

I know that I will now be erased from history. Now that Sam Winchester has been born, my timeline never existed, and this version of me will simply vanish. In the knowledge that this is my final prayer, I will say that I have no doubt, and no regret. Forgive me, Father, if you believe that I have made the wrong decision. But I would do the same thing again for the Winchesters.

_Amen._


	10. May (2006)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

May 22nd  
Sometimes Sammy has visions. He sees the future when he sleeps, and now it's started happening in the day time, too, if one of Yellow Eyes' special kids is around. I wish he'd told me sooner. He's been waking up in the night, and not sleeping, and having weird nightmares and stuff, for weeks. At first I just thought it was about Jess, but then he told me the dreams about her death happened _weeks_ before it. _Months_ , even. I wish he'd just

I thought it'd be good to add this to the journal so we can track others like him down. We've already come across that Max Miller kid, so I guess that shows that it's more than just Sammy. The pattern seems to be mothers dying on the ceiling of their six month old baby's nurseries. We're not sure what's causing it, yet.

Another thing is that Sammy's visions seem to all be linked to Yellow Eyes in some way. Well, except for a weird couple that he guesses are unrelated, where he's in the future and everything's burning and the freaking _Apocalypse_ is happening with a capital A. Sure hope that isn't a vision of the future, cause he says he's always alone, and injured, and demons are chasing after him. I'm not sure it's a vision, though, cause his visions usually happen just a few days before the actual event they're about occurs, not _fifty years_ before.

I guess some of his nightmares are just bad dreams, and nothing more.

Whatever. I know that'll never happen to him. _Nothing_ bad is gonna happen to him. Not as long as I'm around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks!! Thanks for all the support in the form of comments, bookmarks and kudos - I hope you've enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading it :))


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